


Not Made for Normal

by tunacafe



Series: Not Made for Normal [1]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated Fic, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mystery, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, Treasure Hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunacafe/pseuds/tunacafe
Summary: A search for a lost relic in the Siberian wilderness leads Sam across the globe and through the ruins of his own memories. Luckily, Nathan’s go-to guy -- Charlie Cutter -- is there to help him through it.
Relationships: Charlie Cutter/Samuel Drake, Chloe Frazer/Nadine Ross, Nathan Drake/Elena Fisher, Rafe Adler/Samuel Drake, Samuel Drake/Original Character(s)
Series: Not Made for Normal [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959685
Comments: 26
Kudos: 67





	1. Danny

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't expect to be writing any of this but here we are now. Rating may go up. Dont look at me please. Enjoy.

It was night. August. Maybe --  _ maybe _ September. The air was just crisp enough to make the hair on his arms stand on end beneath the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. It was definitely September.

September and just a little past 1 a.m. -- he could remember that much. Lights out was at 10 p.m. sharp for the older kids, Father Duffy locked up for the night at around 11, and Sam had been out on the roof with Danny since nearly midnight. 

They sat shoulder to shoulder, listening to Danny’s walkman on a pair of headphones cradled between their faces. Sam tapped his finger rhythmically against the plaster cast set on his right arm as they listened to the cassette that Danny had “gifted” to himself on his shift at the record store. 

Danny was seventeen and had a part-time job -- which Sam thought was the pinnacle of independence at the time. Anything to get away from the Home for a few hours out of the day -- and if it meant that every now and then they could listen to The Smiths together, then all the better. 

Danny had good taste in music. He could play the guitar, which was something Sam was jealous of. He had a wicked sense of humour and a scar running from his hairline down to the corner of his left eyebrow, which Sam thought made him look like a movie villain, but in a cool way. He thought about the way Danny looked a lot, actually.

He thought about how his long, dark brown hair made him want to grow out his own. The beginning whispers of facial hair on his chin. His broad shoulders.

Danny had been relocated to St Francis’ a few months ago -- after some disciplinary incidents at his last home -- and he and Sam had become fast friends. Father Duffy had made the mistake of assigning their beds next to each other and they had caused so much trouble together in the first three weeks that Danny was moved down the hall. Sam was two grades below him, so now the only time they saw each other was during meals and when they snuck out like this. Some nights they’d climb out over the gates and get late-night burgers. Some nights they’d just sit and listen to music together. 

Sam liked those nights.

Maybe it made him some kind of weirdo, but he liked sitting pushed up against Danny’s side. He liked resting his chin on his shoulder so they’d be close enough to share his headphones. It was nice to have something that was just theirs.

Once  _ Cemetery Gates _ rumbled to a close, Danny ejected the tape to flip it over to its B-side _. Big Mouth Strikes Again _ came warbling through the headphones and Danny fumbled for something in his pocket and produced a matchbox and a beaten pack of Marlboros. It looked like it had been through the wash.

"You smoke?" He asked

"Yeah," Sam lied.

Danny shifted his weight back and pulled the headset away from his cheek. He adjusted it gently over Sam's ears. With both his hands free, he pulled a cigarette from its pack and placed it between his lips. Sam watched as he struck a match with deft hands and touched the flame to the cigarette. He took a deep drag and blew it out through his nose before plucking the cigarette from his lips and offering it to Sam. 

Something in the way Danny was looking at him, his dark eyes locked on his own, sent blood rushing to his face. A million miles away, he heard Morrissey drone on,  _ “Now I know how Joan of Arc Felt... when the flames rose to her Roman nose, and her Walkman started to melt.”  _ He leaned forward and let Danny place the cigarette directly between his lips.

The older boy smiled at that. He pulled out a cigarette for himself and lit it up.

Sam would've coughed if he’d remembered to breathe. He made a little choking noise when he finally pulled the smoke into his lungs. They sat there for a minute or two, smoking.

Danny looking out at Boston's midnight lights.

Sam looking at Danny. 

When he finally looked back at him, he used his thumb to push back the speaker on Sam's right ear.

"You're not gonna mention any of this in confession, right?"

  
Sam made a sound that was half cough, half laugh,  _ "Fuck no." _


	2. London

Sam awoke to the sound of the front door being unlocked and the shuffling of plastic bags and worn sneakers that followed it. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and the exposed ceiling rafters of Charlie Cutter’s London apartment came into focus.

“What time is it?” he croaked.

“Half-past two,” Charlie answered from somewhere in the kitchen. 

“Half-past...ugh, _ shit _ .”

He ran his hand down his face. It felt sticky with sweat and his neck hurt from being craned at a weird angle against the arm of the couch. He didn’t remember falling asleep last night. The image of Danny Kostopoulos flashed through his mind. He hadn’t had more than a passing thought about him in maybe twenty years, let alone a dream. The last time Sam had even seen him was maybe five months after the night they first smoked out on the roof -- Danny turned eighteen in January, moved downtown in February, and by March was in prison for carjacking and larceny.

Sam sat up.

Looking over the back of the couch, he watched Charlie unbagging things on the kitchen island. He had on a pair of grey sweats and an athletic jacket.

“How long have you been up?”

“Since around nine,” said Charlie, filling the kettle up with water and placing it on the stove, “I’ve been to the gym and Tesco, for your coffee, among other things.”

“You got me coffee?”

“Yeah, since you were complaining about the tea bags. I can’t help if you haven’t got any bloody taste buds but the least I can do is be a good host about it.”

“Hmm,” Sam mumbled, “thanks.”

For a moment he sat and watched as Charlie put away the cutlery from the night before. Their flight got in late and they picked up microwaveable meals from the only place that was still open (the corner shop down the block).

He realized he hadn't had a cigarette since before they got on the plane.

He swung his legs off the couch, and the boots he’d neglected to take off before he fell asleep thumped on the aging hardwood floor.

“I’m going on my smoke break,” he said.

“Fire escape,” Charlie replied curtly, his back still turned as he put a carton of something into the fridge.

“Yeah, I _ know _ .”

Sam grabbed his pack and lighter off the crate that served as a makeshift coffee table and shuffled across the floor, still not fully awake. He unlatched the window on the far side of the room and tumbled out onto the escape with no small difficulty. The air outside felt balmy in comparison to the past two weeks they’d spent in Siberia, and the chatter of people and cars below felt surreal, but comforting. 

Sam had first met Charlie six months back, while working a recovery job with Victor off the coast of Cuba. They’d caught the tail end of the Hurricane Season and with a storm brewing over the Caribbean they needed to expedite their work -- so Victor called Charlie. Sam was skeptical at first, but Nathan gave him a shining endorsement, and he had to admit -- he admired his gusto. Admired it enough that when Charlie called him in late January for this current job, he thought,  _ why the fuck not? _

Since Cuba, he had learned that Charlie Cutter was the definition of well-connected. Apparently being  _ college educated _ was good for more than just a fancy piece of paper -- he seemed to have a lot of friends in the ‘Academic Circle’ who were more than happy to cash out on the illicit side of the antiquities trade. Dr. Blake Latimer, an archaeologist from the University of Cardiff, was one such friend who had tipped them off in return for a finder’s fee. 

Dr. Latimer had uncovered a small metal lockbox buried on the banks of the Irtysh River during a field expedition to the remote Siberian town of  _ Okunevo _ . It contained a field journal belonging to the acclaimed British geologist Meredith Alen-Buckley -- who had mysteriously disappeared around the turn of the nineteenth century.

The notes were mostly surveys of ground composition and detailed reports of dredging the local lakes -- but halfway through they took on a more frantic tone. They described some kind of  _ ‘Magnificent Cosmic Find’ _ which she called a _ Thinking Crystal, _ along with a note of  _ ‘further research to be conducted in a more secure location’ _ . The page had been a poorly weathered topographic map of the region with a faintly-drawn star marked deep in the woods.

Dr. Latimer was, in Charlie’s terms,  _ a bit of a chinless-wonder, _ so he handed it off to someone more adventurous and called it a day. Three weeks later, Charlie and Sam were camping deep in the taiga outside Okunevo village, combing through the woods for Meredith’s lost bunker and her magic crystal.

What should’ve taken a few days with the notes and map they had, took two weeks. The energy in the forest was undoubtedly strange. Their GPS and equipment sent them in circles, something the inn-keeper had warned them about their first night in town. _ “The place is mostly a gimmick,”  _ said Charlie as they checked-in,  _ “lots of crackpots coming through here since the 90’s, so-called Sacred Grounds, UFO-sightings, all that creepy stuff. Grain of truth, though. We’ll see.” _

They certainly saw a lot of pine trees, mud and snow -- and a lot of their own foot prints as they looped back around despite their best efforts. It wasn’t until Sam was headed back to town to replenish their supplies that he uncovered the bunker, painfully and accidentally, by stepping into a bear trap. The trap was rusted enough that it didn’t break anything -- but it still hurt like a bitch. He radioed Charlie in and they uncovered a line of traps beneath a layer of snow and pine needles that circled around what looked like a manhole cover. 

When they opened up the cover with a pry-bar and no small effort, they found a dug-out bunker barely large enough to fit the both of them. Charlie stayed outside while Sam investigated. On the hay bedding strewn across the floor, there were piles of notebooks, an old oil lamp -- and a single crude map of the Hebridean Isles.

“Sam?”

Charlie’s voice startled him back to their Tuesday afternoon in London. He was leaning out the window with a hot cup of coffee placed on the sill. 

“You alright, mate?”

“Yeah, just waking up is all.”

“I can see that. Well. Your coffee’s here. I’m gonna shower and then we can head out in about twenty, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

* * *

  
  


They took the bus to South Kensington, Sam holding a leather folio of their maps and notes snugly beneath his arm. It was a short walk from the bus stop to the Imperial College grounds. Sam noticed that the route seemed almost second nature to Charlie, who chatted idly as they walked about an Alien Abduction theory he’d read online about the missing geologist. As they crossed the campus greens, Sam had his eyes glued to a horde of Young Adults whacking each other with foam swords -- Charlie’s stories of bright lights and glyphs in the mud fading to a dull buzz in the back of his mind.

“I’m not going to lose you to the college crowd, am I?” Charlie asked, noting Sam’s interest.

Truth be told, Sam felt a little awkward, “No, no,” he said, “just haven’t been around a college since… I guess since I was a teenager. Weird sport.”

“I think they’re LARPing, actually.”

“What the hell is larping?”

“It’s when -- actually, you know, I think that’s a conversation for another time. This is the maths building, up here.”

Sam waved to one of the girls who had been downed by a rather vigorous pool noodle to the gut. She waved back. 

The mathematics building looked like an ugly grey block. Passing the students in the halls made Sam feel even more out of place -- kids with laptops and book bags, teeming with youth and test anxiety. It was a wonder to Sam how Charlie seemed so comfortable in this environment. Maybe it was because he looked like he could be campus security, while Sam felt like the guy he was sent to arrest.

Their destination was an office on the fifth floor, marked by a brass placard that read:  _ SAFIYA ANWAR, MATHEMATICAL SCIENCES.  _ Charlie knocked confidently and after a moment, a plumpish woman in a yellow churidar greeted them cheerfully.

“Charlie!” she said, slinging her arms around him in a tight hug.

“It’s good to see you, Safiya.”

Once she had released Charlie and given him several thunderous pats on the back, she extended her hand to Sam, “and you must be Nathan Drake?”

“Ah, Sam, Actually.  _ Sam _ Drake.” he answered, shaking her hand.

“Oh, yes, yes, sorry, Charlie did mention that. I think I’ve just heard a bit more about your brother from our friend here.”

“Yeah don’t worry about it, I get that a lot.”

Her toothy grin never faltered as she ushered them in to take a seat at her desk, closing the door behind them.

“Thanks again for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Of course, of course. I’ve got a few minutes before my next lecture -- and you know it’s always a treat to see you, Charlie--,”

She took a second to close out several tabs on her computer before sitting down her with her hands clasped expectantly in front of her, “ _ So _ , what  _ have _ you lads brought me today?”

Sam gave Charlie a brief glance before handing Dr. Anwar the folio. 

“A map and a cipher -- but no key,” said Charlie.

Dr. Anwar opened the folder and gently ran her fingers across the yellowed parchment map and set it aside to skim over the xeroxed journal pages they had included. 

“How lovely,” she said, breathlessly.

The map was a neat little square, hand-drawn and depicting the isles of the Outer Hebrides in Northern Scotland. There were no markings or notations on the map itself, but tiny roman letters dotted the outer border of the parchment like a string of marching ants. The same technique, in a different sequence, marked every journal page they had included in the folio.

“And where could you have gotten these from, I wonder?”

“A hole in the ground in  _ Siberia.” _

Sam gave Charlie a furtive glance, wondering how he could be so upfront with a third party while working in this business. Charlie seemed not to notice, his smiling eyes still preoccupied with Dr. Anwar who was nodding enthusiastically.

“And… am I correct in the assumption that you boys are looking for… a coordinate, perhaps?”

“A big ‘X’ to mark the spot. D’you think it’s manageable?” asked Charlie.

“Seems like it could be a combination cipher… could prove challenging but that’s what makes this kind of thing fun isn’t it?”

“Glad at least you think so. We both took a good crack at it, but I prefer prose to, uh… whatever’s been written all over this. Absolutely clueless.”

“Too many bumps to the ol’ noggin, perhaps?” said Dr. Anwar wryly, her brown eyes twinkling as she looked from Charlie to Sam, “Well. My work week’s certainly much more interesting for your visit. Though it might take a bit longer than that from the look of it. You aren’t in a rush on this job, are you?”

“Not at present. Worst case scenario, I’ll start charging Sam here for rent.”

Sam offered a tight smile as Charlie nudged his shoulder.

“Well. I’d give it two weeks, then. I have a tremendous number of research papers to grade.”

“Fantastic,” Charlie clapped his hands to his thighs and stood up from his chair, prompting Sam to do the same, “We’ll keep in touch -- you really are the best, Safiya.”

She laughed in response. As the two men turned to step out of her office, she called out in an inquisitive tone, “one more thing, Charlie.”

“What’s that, love?”

“I know well enough now not to ask what you hope to do with it -- but for the sake of curiosity, what is it you’re looking to find this time?”

Charlie huffed, and feigned a thoughtful expression, “something _ pretty _ .”

Dr. Anwar smiled and shook her head, “Blake put you onto this, didn’t he?”

“You know how he is.”

“I do. And Charlie?”

“Yes, love?”

“Bring me some lunch the next time you come around.”

* * *

As they closed the door behind them, Charlie gave Sam a pat on the back and raised an eyebrow, “You were uncharacteristically quiet in there. Something on your mind?” 

Sam exhaled heavily, letting go of some of the tension that had been building in his shoulders, “You  _ really _ trust this lady?”

“I do. She’s been my go-to girl for a while now. She’ll get it done.”

Sam made something of a grimace, “Yeah, and she’s not... if --  _ when _ \-- she decodes the map… you’re sure she’s not gonna just.  _ Take off with it _ ? Pawn it to the highest bidder?”

“You’re worrying too much, mate. Safiya’s always been golden. She does it for the sake of the challenge.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. We all get our kicks in our own ways, right?”

Truth be told, Sam hated the idea of handing off their find -- however cryptic -- to someone else. If what they found in Meredith’s bunker was more than just the ramblings of a madwoman, they could be trailing a pretty cosmic discovery. He’d made the mistake of having too many cooks in the kitchen before, and he’d prefer to keep their shit as tightly on lock as possible.

“Hey,” Charlie said, nudging Sam once again, “We can trust her. Now let’s get you some food. Coffee and cigarettes are no substitute for a real meal.”

“Alright,” Sam laughed, “but you’re buying.” 


	3. Two Crystals

From the moment Sam first laid eyes on her, he knew he _had_ to get to know her. He watched her dancing in the crowd at a _New Order_ concert in the spring of ‘89; her long black hair whipping around in a crimped ponytail as she twirled. She must’ve noticed him watching, because when their eyes finally met she smiled and there was such a spark in her dark eyes that he felt like he’d been set on fire. Before the night was through they were smiling and laughing and making out in the back of his friend Jacob’s sprinter van. He was so taken with her that he almost forgot to ask her name before they said their goodbyes. 

“ _It’s Crystal_ ,” she said as she penned her phone number onto his palm and kissed him one more time on the cheek.

He called her often.

She lived about thirty minutes outside of Boston, but by summer he’d _acquired_ a new bike and he’d make the drive to see her almost every weekend. Her parents didn’t want her dating, so they’d meet at the gas station down the street from her house and he’d take her wherever she wanted to go. Some nights they’d sneak out and lie on the roof of the highschool and talk for hours. She told him about how her parents were refugees who had moved from Cambodia in the 70’s. That she had grown up feeling like she didn’t fit in -- at school or at home -- caught between two worlds. She said that’s why she liked him so much: he knew what it was like to be lonely.

When she started college in the fall, he was beyond excited for her to be moving to Boston. In the first few weeks, he climbed up to her third floor window every night that he wasn’t working. He’d mess around with her gameboy while she studied, and if her roommate was out, they’d mess around with each other. Life was pretty good. 

Then they started fighting.

First it was about how he never called _before_ he showed up. Then it was about his job (Was it dangerous? Was it _legal?)._ Then it was about distracting her during exams -- she told him to fuck off right before her government midterm, and then called him crying when she’d only gotten a B. 

Despite it all, he still really liked her. He wasn’t quite sure if she was his _girlfriend_ and he was her _boyfriend,_ but as far as he could tell they’d been pretty exclusive. Maybe that’s why he agreed when she asked if he’d meet her parents over Thanksgiving break.

It wasn’t something he’d ever pictured himself doing. He didn’t even know how to _act_ in front of someone’s parents. It had him feeling sick to his stomach right up until he was knocking on their little suburban door with Crystal’s hand clasped tightly in his.

Introductions were smooth enough.

Mr. & Mrs. Leang. Samuel. Nice to meet you. Sitting down to dinner and being served something he immediately forgot how to pronounce.

They seemed like they didn’t _hate_ him outright, but he had trouble meeting their eyes -- considering how vigorously he’d been fingering their daughter the night before. Alright. That was a bad thought to have. He looked down at his plate of noodles and tried to think sensible things.

They ate in awkward silence until Mr. Leang cleared his throat with intent.

"So, Samuel, what does your parents do?"

An instant of panic flitted across Crystal's face, but Sam answered without missing a beat, "My dad's a professor. He teaches community college down in Philly." 

Well. He wasn’t lying.

"Philadelphia is a nice city! I’ve been there on business trips. What topic does he teaches?"

“Theology.”

Mr. Leang looked to his daughter.

_“Sasanea,_ Ba.”

“Ah, _religion_ \-- religion is a very interesting topic,” he said enthusiastically, “What kind of religion does he teaches about?”

“Uh, Abrahamic… religions. I don’t know, it’s like a comparative thing?”

“Our family is Buddhist, you know, but we learned a lot since we came here. Understanding other religions is important to making friends.”

“I guess so.”

Another awkward silence settled over the table. Sam picked at his noodles and wondered what the powdery stuff on top of it was.

Mr. Leang took another stab at conversation, “Well, your father is teaching religion -- so, what are _you_ studying?”

“Um. I don’t really--,”

“He’s in poli-sci with me, Ba,” Crystal interrupted.

“Ah, that’s good. You can help each other study. Is that how you met?”

“It is. Sam’s in my Global Issues class.”

Mrs. Leang spoke up this time, “You know, Crystal’s daddy and I said dating in college is very distracting, but she said you’re such a good student -- she always say you’re so hard working. I’m happy she found a good influence.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed, “me too.”

When dinner was over and Sam and Crystal had finished doing the dishes, he asked her in a murmur if they could talk outside.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Crystal turned to Sam with such a look of contrition, “Sam--”

“What the _fuck,_ Crystal?”

_“Sam.”_

“Don’t _‘Sam’_ me -- _what the hell was that??”_

“It’s just a couple white lies -- you didn’t even want to come tonight, so I don’t get what the big deal is.”

Sam kicked over the flowerpot by the door.

“You used to tell me, you… all you’ve ever done is _complain_ about your parents. All you’ve ever _talked about_ is how they reprimand you and chastise you and make you feel alone -- why even ask me to meet them if you just wanted to humiliate me to make them happy?”

Crystal looked very small in the faint glow of the porch light. 

“I wasn’t trying to humiliate you.”

“Yeah? Then what _were_ you trying to do, Crys?”

He looked at her expectantly, blood ringing in his ears.

“I’ve just been… _thinking,_ okay?”

She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder to tug anxiously at the split ends.

“I just. I’ve been thinking about how I don’t have any real connection to my culture besides my parents, okay? Like, there’s this whole other world that I’m supposed to be a part of and I don’t know how. So, I just... I don’t want to leave them behind -- and you’re a part of my life now, so I wanted them to like you.”

“So you brought me over here to play dollhouse with your parents and make like I’m not some piece of shit you’re embarrassed by?”

“You’re missing the point, Sam!” Crystal looked like she was biting back tears, “What was I supposed to say? _Hey Mom, Hey Dad!_ This is my boyfriend, the… the _drug dealer?”_

Sam shook his head, his jaw locked tightly, “Is that what you think I do?”

“I don’t know Sam, you don’t fucking _tell_ me anything -- what am I _supposed_ to think?”

“I told you I work in _repossession.”_

“Great! Mom, Dad, this is Sam! The _Petty Thief!”_ she laughed ironically, her ponytail bouncing as she threw her head back, “Tell me, why is it that you get to lie _all the time_ , but when _I_ do it suddenly we’ve got a problem?”

Sam felt like he was about to throw up, “When have I _ever_ lied to you?”

“Like, _all_ the time, Sam. You lie about what you do at work, you lie about where you _are,_ you lie about getting hurt--”

“Just because I don’t tell you all the gritty details doesn’t mean I’m _lying_ to you, babe.”

“Yes it _does,”_ her voice broke as she started to cry, her fists shaking as she bounced in frustration, “I don’t _get_ you, Sam. You’re so _smart_ and _funny_ and _kind-_ \- you’re so much better than the ugly shit you do. And, and -- meanwhile, I’m trying to make a _difference_ in my life and I can’t fucking focus at school thinking about you getting hurt, or arrested, or killed and it’s like you expect me to just laugh it off.”

“Crystal, I’m not doing any of this to fuck with you. You have your shit to take care of and I have mine.”

She broke into a full sob.

“But it doesn’t have to _be_ like this. I could talk to Mr. DeWitt at financial aid, we could get you a scholarship, you could stay in my dorm -- Alice wouldn’t rat you out as long as you kept on my side--,”

“Hey, woah, woah, woah, slow down,”

“You’re _better_ than this, Sam.”

Sam reached for her and she pressed her face into his chest. He felt the way her body shook with her sobs, “Crystal, Baby, Sweetness--,”

“I hate you,” she mumbled.

He stroked her hair.

* * *

What was it about London that made him think about being a fucking teenager? Sam dunked his head under the cold stream of water running from the bathtub faucet. He felt like ass. He stayed there on the floor with his head under the stream for maybe fifteen minutes before Charlie knocked.

“You alright in there, mate?”

“I’m fine. I just. Threw up.”

“You’re _seriously_ hungover? I thought you could handle your drink better than that.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Charlie waited by the door quietly and listened to the water rushing down the drain. After a minute he announced, “Well, Safiya’s given me a call. If you want, I can go meet her by myself.”

Sam answered with an unseemly retching noise.

“...I’ll take that as the go ahead, then. I’ll get you a seltzer on the way back.”

* * *

Sam fell asleep on the bathmat with his cheek pressed against the cold tile floor. When he finally came to, he willed himself onto his feet and over to the sink. He looked like shit with his hair plastered against his forehead and the left half of his face imprinted with the shape of hexagon tiles. He grabbed a towel to dry off his hair and reached for his phone to check the time -- almost two hours had passed since Charlie left. He braced himself to step out into the light of the living area. 

Charlie’s apartment was an open studio with great arching windows that let in an uncomfortable amount of light. Sam squinted and made his way to the fridge. He took a swig of orange juice straight from the bottle -- which he decided Charlie wouldn’t mind, provided he didn’t find out -- and poked through the cabinets to find a bottle of ibuprofen and some crackers. He ate half a sleeve before slinking over to his couch-nest to change into a dry shirt. 

They’d been waiting on Dr. Anwar for a week and six days. In that time, Charlie went to the gym almost every morning. Sam joined him a few times, but despite his three years of freedom, he still cherished the idea of sleeping in too much to make a big effort of it. A few nights he went out walking by himself, wandering around Islington for a few hours. Other nights they stayed in and worked their way through the _Bourne_ Films, _The Guns of Navarone_ and a cartoon movie about a very fast snail (which they were mostly drunk for). All things considered, he hadn’t spent much time by himself in Charlie’s flat. So. A _little_ snooping had to be justified. 

He started with the record collection he’d been eyeing for most of his stay. He thumbed through the stacks of faded cardboard. Some Eurythmics, some Queen, an album by Roxette -- now _that_ was a surprise. He picked a record by someone he’d never heard of before and set it up on the turntable. Some contemplative piano and a soft warbly voice filled the room. 

He plucked gently at the strings of the guitar mounted on the wall next to the stereo. He didn’t know how to play and Charlie hadn’t so much as mentioned it, so he wondered if it was just for show. There wasn’t much else of interest in the “entertainment corner” as Charlie had dubbed it. Some DVDs he had already inspected when making their movie selections. A boxing trophy from 2003. A crap ton of books, mostly on history, a great many on Greek poems. One on gardening. 

Sam liked Charlie well enough as far as co-workers went, but he wasn’t sure how much deeper his personality ran beyond ‘Burly Man Who Likes Shakespeare and Annie Lennox’. He liked to know who he was dealing with. Nathan had given him a few details before they met, and Sam had now been in Charlie’s company for long enough that nothing he found in the living room was especially groundbreaking. He wasn’t so impolite as to start digging through his clothing drawers -- but he wondered if there wasn’t anything more _illuminating_ lying around. He looked up at the loft. The spiral staircase leading up had been mostly blocked off with cardboard boxes containing more books -- and from the thin layer of dust, they looked like they hadn’t been moved in a while. 

It wasn’t difficult to scramble over them and climb up to the second level.

The loft ran the length of the apartment and overlooked the living area. The ceiling was a bit low and it felt cramped, with more cardboard boxes stacked along the wall and on the desk on the far side of the loft. It was no wonder this space wasn’t used much, considering how _deeply_ Nathan had stressed Charlie’s hatred of tight spaces. 

Sam stepped over some piles of paper and a pair of dirty socks that had probably been there for an eternity. He pawed through the metal desk drawers. Pens and office supplies. A tourist-y magnet from Paris. When he found nothing of interest he moved to the document boxes on top of the desk. He lifted the lid on the first one and found it contained several manila folders and photo albums that looked fresh out of the 90’s. Exactly the kind of thing he was looking for.

One of the folders contained some thesis scratch work, _Geography of the Odyssey: Ithaca and its Real World Counterparts by Charles Cutter._ Much of it was blacked out with sharpie and annotated to hell with post-it notes. The other folders held similar contents: _T.E. Lawrence: The Eighth Pillar of Wisdom, A Reinterpretation of the Astakos Cave Findings, Bugger This and More Love Charlie_ (featuring a little angry cartoon portrait) _._ They were all scrapped. He moved onto the photo albums.

One album was completely full of a fresh faced Charlie and his friends around Paris. Very noticeably, Charlie had a mostly full head of hair -- curly and black from the look of it -- and a few less scars, but the big square jaw and smiling eyes were a dead giveaway.

Another album seemed full of family photos. An older couple that were _unmistakably_ Charlie’s parents -- an odd balance of his facial features split between the both of them. Photos of his mom at the kitchen table, his dad showing off a very large turnip. A picture of Charlie on the couch next to a teenage girl who Sam recognized from a photo pinned to the fridge downstairs. She had big brown hair and a huge smile. From her nose and her eyes he could tell she was probably either a sister or a cousin. He slipped it out from the plastic. _Charlie & Evie, Christmas ‘94 _was scrawled on the back.

The last album seemed especially well-worn. It looked like a college album, Charlie appearing to be in his mid-twenties. There were pictures in dorm rooms and on campus greens -- in one photo Charlie had his legs hanging off the side of a bunk bed, kicking the guy below. They had on matching sweatshirts that read _Oxford University_ . Sam scoffed. Of _course_.

Just as he was about to close the little booklet, he noticed something stuck to the back cover. He pulled it off to take a closer look. It was a small polaroid of Charlie and a petite woman holding each other closely in front of a pier by the sea. They had on big winter coats and scarves, and the woman had her arms wrapped tightly around Charlie’s midsection. They were absolutely beaming.

“Sam?”

_Shit_.

He tucked the photograph back in and placed everything back into the box. He leaned over the banister to see Charlie standing in the middle of the room below.

“I’m up here.”

“Christ, mate -- what are you _doing_ up there?”

He gestured to the support beam that ran across the low ceiling, “Uh, pull-ups.”

_“Pull…_ aren’t you hungover?”

“Yeah, but the exercise helps with the headache. You know. Gotta get those endorphins pumping.”

Charlie gave him a look that wasn’t entirely unconvinced, but definitely a bit skeptical, “Well, climb back down here if you would,” he waved the leather folio around in his hand, “we’ve got things to discuss.”

Sam shuffled back down the stairs and over to the dining table where Charlie was laying out several sheets of paper from the folio, “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“I was trying to be quiet, since you were feeling _so_ feeble this morning.”

“Well thank you, _dear_ , but believe it or not I’ve been through worse.”

“As you’ve mentioned.” Charlie pushed a bottle of seltzer into his hand, “but try not to vomit on the materials.”

Sam accepted the glass bottle and cracked it open with his teeth.

“You know that was a screw-off.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a swig, “but this makes me look rogue-ish and sexy.”

He pointed to the folio, “so what’ve we got?”

“This here is the key,” said Charlie, passing a printed page to Sam. It contained a grid of letters and a numeric sequence, “Safiya’s decrypted our lot but if we find any more journaling from our star geologist we should be able to decode it ourselves.”

He then unfolded a large piece of paper to reveal a blown-up xerox of their map. Dr. Anwar’s handwriting littered the page in about a thousand different colours, and she had written the decoded message on a post-it note. Sam read the notation out loud:

_“To those who seek her noble wisdom, I’ve heard her song before in the chalice raised by the hand of Ronaigh an Daimh to her bonny son Sula Sgeir.”_

“Right,” Charlie uncapped a red sharpie and circled two small islands in the far north, “ _Ronaigh an Daimh --_ that’s North Rona in this century -- is this bigger one, and Sula Sgeir is the rock off the coast.”

“So if we’re raising a chalice,” said Sam taking the sharpie and marking two lines between the islands, “we’re looking for something around here.”

“My guess is another island with some sort of lake or a body of water, here, take a look at this,” Charlie slid a journal page over to Sam and read the decryption out to him, “ _There is a sacred power in the chalice here. I thought them ignorant until I bit her drink._ ”

“So that chalice is the lake in Okunevo where she found the crystal?”

“I’m willing to bet.”

“Wait, alright, let’s back it up a second. So our lady Meredith finds this _‘Thinking Crystal’_ in Siberia… but why drag it out to the middle of the ocean? Why send us thousands of miles away?”

“Well, let’s review,” said Charlie, thumbing through the journal pages, “a lot of the mythology in Okunevo is some new age mysticism -- UFOs and Healing Waters -- a load of bollocks to sell to tourists, right? Well one of the older myths is that the lakes in the village were created by some kind of... cosmological event, a _meteor strike_ supposedly summoned by the Hindu god Hanuman, according to a traveling disciple of _Haidakhan Babaji,_ and at the bottom of the lake there’s this _Thinking Crystal-_ -,”

“The one Meredith found.”

“The one Meredith found, and it holds some kind of _Divine Knowledge_.”

“ _To those who seek her noble wisdom--_ ”

“If this crystal is something that fell from space, but she’s _seen it before_ \-- there’s reason to believe that Siberia wasn’t the only site it struck --”

“--and if that’s the case, we could be walking into a gold mine here.”

“Well, more of a crystal mine, but… yeah.”

Sam shook his head and laughed, “Holy crap.”

Charlie smiled, “How soon can you be ready to head to the coast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the food they were eating at Crystal's dinner was mee kola


	4. The Island

Within three days they were on a train to Scotland and then a ferry to the Isle of Lewis off the western coast, where they stayed the night in a cramped hostel. In the morning, they had a brief argument about Sam’s insistence on bringing his sidearm ( _ “Mate,  _ **_what_ ** _ are you going to shoot at? The puffins?” _ ) but Charlie decided it probably wasn’t polite breakfast conversation and instead opted for a second glass of orange juice. Once they wrapped up, they double checked their bags and set out from the Port of Ness in a rental boat. 

It was a modestly sized speedboat, and if the weather stayed clear, they had a two hour journey before they’d reach the waters surrounding North Rona and Sula Sgeir. Charlie had on a knit cap and big aviator sunglasses as he helmed the boat. Sam thought to himself that it made him look a bit like a sea captain in a bad porno. He shifted his weight around in his seat and put his legs up on the console. 

“I wish we could’ve flown,” he grunted.

Charlie laughed, “Well I’m not the one who herniated Sully’s discs, now am I?”

“Hey, technically, the car we  _ hit _ did that.”

“Right, well I think it’s fascinating how well you lot sustain injuries even in daily life.”

Sam feigned hurt, “The light was  _ yellow _ .”

“And that attitude is precisely why I’m the one steering right now.”

“You’re such an ass. What would I even hit out here?”

“Another boat. A skerry. Lost pirate colony, maybe.”

“Well I don’t know what a  _ skerry _ is but you’d be thanking me for that last one.”

“Long as my spinal column was still attached,” Charlie laughed, “I’m just saying I don’t trust you driving anything with more than one seat. Unlike your brother, I prefer to get my deposit back.”

Sam frowned and looked out at the wake their boat cut through the water. He hadn’t spoken to Nathan much in the past few weeks, between patchy signal and time differences -- and with Cassie’s first birthday coming and going, he didn’t seem like he had much time on his hands. It was still weird to Sam. Working without him. Not like before when he didn’t have a choice, but because Nathan’s life was so different from his now. At least Charlie was decent company. 

“You thinking about something?”

“What?”

Charlie looked over at him from the steering wheel, “You’ve got a concerned look about you.”

“Uh… just wondering how Nathan’s doing, I guess,” he noticed he’d been bouncing his leg, “I think I need a cigarette.”

Sam pulled a pack out of his coat pocket and lit up. It burned quicker in the rush of the wind than he would have liked. 

“I miss working with him, too,” said Charlie, “it was a sad day in our little community when he went legitimate.”

Sam tapped his leg a little faster. Despite spending the past month with Charlie, they hadn’t exactly breached much in the way of personal topics. Not that how he felt about his brother’s new life was intensely personal, but it made him uncomfortable enough to want to change the subject.

"So how do you know Dr. Anwar? You guys have, uh, history? Like, romantically or something?"

Charlie looked genuinely surprised, "Safiya?? Not like  _ that. _ She -- actually, she was my ex's best mate."

"Ex as in… Girlfriend?"

"Fianceé, actually."

"Wow, fianceé," Sam barked, "Sorry… I guess you struck me more as the bachelor type."

"What?” Charlie turned and offered him a cheesy grin, “Think I'm too devilishly handsome to settle down?"

"I'm sure it'd be a loss to the many eligible ladies of the East End."

"And the gents," Charlie's eyes crinkled as he smiled. Then he added curtly, "Wasn't meant to be, though."

Sam looked back at the ocean blasting away in front of them, “Sorry.”

“S’alright. She was bloody short she was, I would’ve got a crick in the neck from bending down all the time. Saved me some money on a chiropractor.”

Sam thought of the petite woman in the polaroid. They had looked absolutely smitten with each other. 

“What about you, then?”

“Me?”

“Well if you’re going to ask about my dating history, I should get a freebie too, right?”

Sam leaned his head back against his seat and laughed, “Well, I’ve definitely never been  _ engaged _ .”

Charlie pinched his eyebrows in mocking surprise, “ _ No _ .”

“Hey,  _ hey  _ \-- believe it or not, no one’s been able to bag the incredibly desirable man you see before you,” Sam laughed lowly and shook his head, “No, I guess… I never been with anybody too long. I don’t know, since I was a teenager I was always busy looking after Nathan, so I didn’t really have  _ time  _ for, like,  _ relationship _ -relationships. Then there was the whole  _ prison _ thing… you know, I did date this waitress after I got out, though. Her name was Shelley.”

“ _ Shelley.. _ . Fancy waitress or diner waitress?”

Sam wrinkled his nose, “Diner, God, what do you take me for?”

“Just trying to figure out if I should imagine her in an apron or a bow tie.”

“Apron. Also she had brown hair and a sleeve tattoo.”

“Sounds like a peach. So, what happened?”

Sam pictured shattered dinner plates and an angry brunette tossing his shoes and pants out her second story window.

“Ah, she just got sick of me pretty fast -- guess she didn’t know she was dating such a burnout. I got a lot of free pancakes before that, though.”

“What a devastating loss.”   
  


“Yeah and she had, like, a _ really _ great ass, too,” Sam made a squeezing gesture with his hands for emphasis. Charlie snorted. It was almost charming how easy it was to make him laugh.

They talked for a bit about bad dates and one night stands. Sam had quite a few more stories in his arsenal, but the ones Charlie did tell were pretty entertaining. He mentioned getting dinner with a guy named Oscar, who insisted on bringing his Pomeranian (which then bit the waiter and ended the date prematurely). Sam told a story about Nathan’s first girlfriend who cut a guy’s finger off in a bar fight in La Paz (they broke up shortly, but not immediately after). Charlie talked about how when he first met Chloe Frazer, she was dating this Danish guy who was seven feet tall and would only eat hard boiled eggs (he was incidentally also named Oskar).

When the waters turned choppy and the wind picked up, their conversation veered back to finding their island. 

“You see that shape up on the horizon, two o’ clock?” asked Charlie, pointing to a vague grey lump in the distance, “That should be North Rona.”

Sam got up to fetch their papers from the storage locker. He unfolded a printed satellite image and held it down next to the radar display.

“So from here it’s another five to ten miles north till we’re in our hot spot?”

“Should be. Bloody satellite’s still not giving us anything.”

\--

“Should be. Bloody satellite’s started glitching out, though.”

Sam cast his eyes up at the overcast sky, “You think it’s ‘cause of the weather?”

“It's just a bit of cloud coverage,” Charlie smacked the display impatiently as little yellow patches appeared and disappeared in places they shouldn’t, “It shouldn’t be giving us this kind of problem.”

“Think maybe they got a _ Bermuda Triangle _ type situation up here?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of, but -- the interference is a bit reminiscent of the problems we had in Okunevo.”

“What were Meredith’s exact words -- _ I’ve heard her song before? _ ” Sam knitted his brows together and flipped through their notes. “What if that’s not some kind of fancy riddle-speak, what if this Crystal thing has some kind of… weird magnetism or,” he racked his brain for the right word, “some kind of…  _ resonance?  _ Hypothetically, couldn’t that jam a radar?”

Charlie exhaled a laugh, “I don’t rightly know, but I can’t think of a better explanation than that. So -- what, then? You want me to head towards the interference?”

“Well, we’ll either find what we’re looking for,” Sam shrugged, “Or we’ll get killed by some Old God sea monster, which would at least be kind of cool. Win-win, I guess.”

“Signal-jamming C’thulu, Lovely.”

“Come on, bring us in, Skipper.” 

Charlie steered them north through turbulent water. Sam cursed under his breath as a wave slammed them hard on the starboard side and his teeth clacked together on impact. He squinted, glancing over the hull, “You see anything?”

“Not with swells like this,” Charlie lifted up his sunglasses to get a clearer look, “Wait, d’you see that over there? That wave look like it’s holding still to you?”

Just vaguely Sam could make out a grey crested shape on the horizon that seemed constant amidst the waves. They sped towards it. 

It grew in size until they could discern it clearly as a sheer rock face. Charlie took them round eastwards. From the peak they could see green sloping pastures descending down the back of the cliff like a veil, until the land flattened out to meet the water. The island looked to be a few miles long and punctuated with jagged rock and the white fluff of sea birds. The radar display shuddered to a black screen as they approached the northern shore.

About fifty metres off, they were jolted out of their seats by the rudder scraping along a rock bed. Charlie swore as he tried to catch his sunglasses before they plummeted into the water with a little ‘blip’. 

“Well, we’re not getting any closer than this,” he mumbled to Sam, still nettled over his glasses. They anchored in place and set to work unloading their gear. The water around them came up to their hips and Sam was grateful that he’d packed plenty of extra socks as they waded their way to dry land.

The island looked massive from the shore. It stretched southwards in a continuous slope to meet the cliff -- its shape reminiscent of the edge of an impact crater. The grass was the greyish-green Sam had come to know all along the Scottish coast. From the ground he could see lines of stones that might have once been paddocks leading up to an ancient, crumbling taigh. Sam looked wordlessly at Charlie.

“S’too old,” he answered, “looks... maybe  _ eighth _ century? Probably some poor shepherd lived here for some time. Wasn’t too uncommon, buggering off to an island.”

“I guess everybody dreams about their own private island,” Sam remarked, “You wanna go see if Meredith paid this hermit a visit?”

Charlie nodded them forward. “It’ll be a good place to set up camp for the night, anyway. Sun sets early up here.”

* * *

The shepherd’s hut wasn’t much more than rubble and a few wooden beams. What remained of the roof had grown a thick layer of moss and the rest of it was scattered across the property over centuries of neglect. The ghost of a doorway opened unto a small living area with the remains of a hearth and another smaller annex that might have been used for livestock. They pitched their tent in the centre of the room. There may not have been much of a ceiling but the walls would make a good buffer to the winds. 

Charlie prattled on about the construction techniques of taigh-dubh, or _ blackhouses _ , as he laid out their sleeping bags and got started on the fire. Sam picked through the rubble in the meantime, looking for clues. There wasn’t much besides some old blackened pottery and the remains of a wooden chair. If Meredith had been through here, she had either taken anything of interest or made sure not to leave any trace of her passing. 

He turned back to Charlie to report his findings and found him struggling to pull his sweater over his head.

“What are you doing?”

Charlie paused in his dissertation, his face obscured by grey knit wool, “...I’m changing into something dry.”

“Oh,” said Sam, losing his train of thought.

They stood there quietly, neither of them moving, Charlie’s arms in wooly stasis above his head.

“Would you actually mind turning around?”

“Uh, sure, I’ll just…” Sam scooched around him and headed outside, “I’m gonna look around while it’s still light. I don’t think there’s anything else worth looking at in here.”

The sunset from the isle had no splendour or warmth. Just a dull white circle dipping beneath a grey horizon of cloud and sea mist. Sam could just make out the white dot on the coast that marked their boat -- he could probably make it down there in ten minutes if he sprinted. He noted that was probably a strange thought to have. 

They were on the other side of Scotland from St Dismas’ Cathedral, but the air here tasted the same. Like salt, lichen, stone and  _ cold _ . He’d had the worst seasonal depression of his life in the six months that he lived on the northern coast. Rafe’s presence probably added to it, but somehow, the weeks that Rafe was gone for business were even worse. It pissed him off, being stranded by himself with no money, no phone, no transportation, picking away at schematics in some seaside shack while Rafe was probably eating caviar and foie gras on a business lunch in Bora Bora. He lit up a cigarette to clear his mouth of the taste.

From up in the hut, he heard Charlie call his name. Sam looked back over his shoulder to see him peeping out from the door, now wearing an entirely new set of clothes. He held up two bags of dehydrated food, “Do you want the Beef Stroganoff… or the Mac and Cheese?”

“Oh, Stroganoff,  _ of course _ .”

* * *

He awoke with a start. It took a moment for his surroundings to register. The thin yellow fabric of the tent, the flicker of the dying fire just outside... the rise and fall of Charlie’s breathing in the sleeping bag next to him. Sam pushed himself upright and wiped the sweat from his face. Charlie had his knit cap pulled down over his eyes and his lips parted just slightly, still asleep. Sam moved quietly to unzip the door and climbed outside. 

Their things from dinner still lay scattered around the fire. He picked up his pack of cigarettes from where it rested against a thermos and crossed the room to their luggage. Carefully, he removed his 9mm from its case and slipped it into his waistband holster before slinging on his jacket and heading outside.

The cloud cover had thinned out and the waxing moon dusted a dim pewtery light across the island. In the calmer wind he could hear the crashing of waves on rock and the mournful crooning of seals. He strained his eyes, trying to look for their boat on the shore, and breathed a sigh of a relief when he saw it bobbing in the shallow surf.

He didn’t know why he felt so fucking jittery.

It was cold enough to see his breath but his skin still felt tacky from waking in such a panic. He lit a cigarette to still the shaking in his hands and started walking towards the low cliff on the far edge of the pasture. 

It was maybe a twenty foot drop from where he stood. In the dark it was impossible to find the point where the sea became sky -- it stretched out in front of him like an open maw. He tried to remind himself of the current date. That he was far from the Cathedral. He was here with Charlie Cutter. Nathan’s friend. His work partner. He could leave if he wanted.

Still the creeping feeling that he was being watched slid its icy fingers down his spine. 

He could hear Rafe’s voice like a ricochet in his brain.  _ “I won’t tolerate a miscalculation like this again.”  _ The stress of piecing together a centuries-old mystery like he was up for performance review. Sometimes he wondered how long it would be before Rafe would get bored of him, would get frustrated at the lack of progress, and just off him in some nameless grave on a coast just like this one. Sometimes at night he’d sneak out to spend a few moments alone, smoking on the back porch, pretending his freedom hadn’t come at such great a cost. One morning, Rafe had asked if he’d  _ “enjoyed the fresh air” _ . He stayed inside after that; wondering with every misstep when he’d find a bullet between his eyes. 

By his fourth cigarette the shaking in his hands had stilled to numbness. He closed his eyes and tried to picture still waters… the easy lapping tide of the Mississippi from the docks where he first saw Nathan again. Having beignets with Elena by the riverside. Getting shitfaced with Victor on Bourbon street. Cassie’s tiny wonderous smile as he carried her through Audubon Park.

He heard the weight of footsteps behind him. 

His heart dropped and his breathing froze.

_ Wondering when he’d find a bullet between-- _

He ripped his sidearm from its holster, releasing the safety -- 

“ _ Jesus Christ _ , it’s  _ Me _ .”

Charlie practically rolled out of Sam’s line of fire. He stood, hunched over, hand on knee, huffing for breath -- one hand raised defensively in front of his face. Sam exhaled a strained  _ fuck _ as he shakily engaged the safety and slipped the gun back into its holster, “Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck, _ I’m sorry.”

“Christ, mate… I saw you were gone and I’d just come to check…  _ Christ _ .”

Sam took a step towards him, hands open and raised, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I was just… smoking I... I wouldn’t have shot you.”

Charlie held up his hand and shook his head, signaling to keep his distance, “Mate, I  _ heard _ the lock… What the fuck is on with you?? There is…  _ no one _ else on this island.”

“You just…” Sam tried to find the words, “startled me.”

“Well,” Charlie took a deep breath and finally straightened up, “I’ll make sure to wear a cowbell or something… if you’re going to be so trigger happy.”

They stood a moment, coming down from the rush of adrenalin. When it was clear Sam had nothing more to say, Charlie gestured weakly in the direction of their camp, “I’m going back to the hut. You come along whenever you’re done here. Or don’t. Whatever you decide.”

Sam watched him trek back to camp, disappearing into the little shack. By his feet, the cigarette he had dropped in his panic glowed dimly, still lit. He stepped it out. 

When he finally returned for the night, Charlie was still up, sitting in the annex -- poring over his notes by lamp light. He didn’t blame him. 

* * *

Their breakfast was quiet. Charlie cooked some canned sausages over the camp stove and they ate without indicidence. It was nine thirty when they set out; collecting their gear and donning an extra layer to keep warm. As Sam tried to secure his gun, Charlie politely asked if he could use the holster on his ankle instead. There was no malice in his tone.

Their goal for the day was to head towards the high cliff. From the shepherd’s domain they followed a stony path southwards. With the low rolling incline and rocky outcrops, it was difficult to determine any point of interest from their altitude. They were looking for a dried lake bed, or a recessed pool, or perhaps another bunker like the one Sam almost broke his foot finding in Siberia. It all looked green to him. Green and grey and shitty.

“I wish I could climb a tree or something. To get a better view.”

“The soil on these islands is too acidic,” said Charlie, “with the salt spray and strong winds they’re not able to support more than shrubbery--.” He continued up the slope without looking back, still talking about soil pH and heath grasses. Somehow it made Sam feel a little more at ease.

About halfway up the cliff the stone paddocks started up again. The island must have supported a large herd or flock at some point. They split up to investigate. The paddocks were empty -- whatever life they once held was long since gone. Sam scanned the debris littering the fields; mostly just grey stones knocked from their walls. At the collapsed edge of an outer paddock, he spotted an odd stone that seemed a different colour and texture from the rest. Charlie was busy picking through another pile of rocks so Sam made his way over by himself.

The stone was an almost dusty white, spattered with the lowly greens of the moss which tried to claim it. It was a little larger than his hand and was half embedded in the soil. He unfolded his pocket knife and used it to pry around the edges until the object pulled free.

“ _ Holy sh--  _ Charlie?? Charlie you’re gonna wanna come over here.”

In an instant, Charlie was jogging over from his apparently insignificant rock pile. He barely had time to ask what he’d found when Sam pressed the object -- which was  _ not _ a stone, but a misshapen  _ skull _ \-- into his hand.

“ _ What on Earth _ ,” he breathed, turning it in his hands. It looked like a sheep’s skull, but below the left eye socket the bone swelled into a second jaw; half-formed teeth erupting from its silhouette at obscene angles. 

Sam’s eyes flitted back and forth between the mutant skull and Charlie’s bewildered expression, “What the fuck do you think this thing is?”

“A… a sheep? Maybe? I don’t… I’ve never seen anything...” he trailed off, running a finger along the strange jaw. With one hand he pulled out his notebook and set the skull on the wall to begin sketching, “Mutations can occur in nature, right? But… this seems… Do you think it was something the sheep were eating here, or… maybe they were exposed to something--”

Sam nodded noncommittally, turning his attention to the ruined section of wall where he’d dug it up. From the gap, his eyes followed a faint trail up to a recessed alcove in the hill.

“--if it was an isolated event, or if there are more specimens like--,”

“Charlie.”

“Sorry, yes?”

“You got your knife?”

  
“Yeah, why?”

Sam pointed over to the breach, “It looks like there’s some kinda opening in the hill over there. Why don’t you… dig around here a bit, see if you can find any more bones, and I’ll go check it out… let you know what I find.”

Charlie looked a little put out, but almost endearingly so -- holding up his notebook and pencil, wearing his little knit cap.

“Alright then, you go have all the fun.”

Sam nodded him off as he climbed over the rubble and headed up the hill. 

Up close it appeared to be a small opening to a cave, partially covered by long grass and wild heather. He had to duck his head down to fit through the rough semi-circle shape. He turned on his flashlight to look around. The mouth opened up to a small chamber that slanted downwards, burrowing deeper into the hill, almost like a staircase. Even with his flashlight, the chamber extended too far for the beam to illuminate. 

_ “It’s some kind of cave,” _ he called out.

He could just barely hear Charlie shouting something in response. He glanced at the light of the pastures outside and then back down the gullet of the cave.

_ “I’m gonna see where this leads, alright?” _

Charlie said something, a bit closer this time.

Sam started his descent. As he moved inwards, the ceiling pitched up and made it a bit more comfortable to walk. It smelled damp and vaguely metallic. The smell seemed to waft through on a breeze coming from deeper inside the cave. He reached his hand out to the side to steady himself as the downward slope became steeper and the rubble that crunched under his shoes became smaller and more unstable. He heard Charlie’s voice echo in the chamber far behind him, and as he turned to call back, the stones beneath his feet slipped loose and he felt himself tumble forward and down -- much farther than he’d thought the next steps would be -- striking his shoulder and then his hip and finally the left side of his head.


	5. The Caves

It’s Nathan’s seventh birthday.

They’re sitting at a picnic table on the Harborwalk. They’ve just come from the Aquarium and Nathan is holding his new stuffed otter very tightly. Frank had asked Sam if he wanted to pick out anything for himself too. He said no.

Frank and Donna are buying hot dogs. They come back to the table and Donna hands one to Nathan and one to Sam.

“Do you want to get hot chocolate after this?” asks Frank.

“Can we spend the night at your house tonight?” asks Nathan.

The grown-ups look at each other. 

“We’ve talked about this, Shortstuff. Until Donna and I get a bigger apartment there just isn’t space yet, okay?”

“Why doesn’t Donna stay at her own house? Then Sam and I can sleep with you.”

“My house  _ is _ Donna’s house,” Frank laughs, “We can’t just kick her out, can we?”

“You kicked  _ us _ out,” says Sam.

Donna looks like she’s going to say something, but Frank puts a hand on her shoulder, “Come on, Starbuck, that’s not what happened. I know you don't like it at St. Francis but it’s the best place for you kids until I get another job.”

“No one's gonna hire a deadbeat like you.”

There is a jangle of bracelets as Donna smacks Sam across the face.

“Don’t speak to your father like that.”

Sam gets up and he’s rolling down the half pipe and he’s gonna nail this kickflip on the way back up. Nathan is ten and he’s waiting for his turn to skate. They’ve only got one board between the two of them and Nathan kind of sucks, so Sam’s been hogging it for most of the day. He slides off the ramp and kicks the board over to Nathan who steps on gingerly.

“Don’t fall off this time, okay? You gotta keep your feet wider apart, and your shoulders in line with your feet.”

Nathan rolls along shakily, his hands stretched out at his sides. He pushes himself forward with a little kick and he looks like he’s about to topple over, “How do I turn??”

“Bend your knees! Bend your knees!”

Nathan turns very slowly. An older boy swoops by on his longboard and slaps Nathan on the back, almost knocking him over. “Watch your balance, Houdini!” he laughs as Nathan cycles his arms trying not to fall. 

“Don’t be a dick, Brandon,” Sam shouts.

He’s seventeen and lying flat on his back as Brandon kisses a small bruise onto his neck. He can feel the steady beat of _ I Think We’re Alone Now  _ pounding away from the party downstairs. Brandon plucks the joint from Sam’s fingers to take a hit and blows it in his face. Sam slides his hand around the back of the older boy’s head and strokes his hair. He wonders if he’ll go to hell for this. He pushes their lips together and decides he doesn’t care.

He rolls over on the bed and he’s alone and his insides hurt and he’s feverish and confused. Unfamiliar faces float above him, speaking another language. One set of hands passes a pair of forceps to another. Blas is sitting on the edge of his bed in his prison blues. He smiles at him with those pretty lips that have gotten him off in the showers more times than he can count. 

“Where’s Nathan?”

Blas strokes his leg and answers in Spanish, “He’s in New Orleans with his wife. He’s moved on without you.”

“Oh,” says Sam.

The hands stitch up his sides, but he can’t get up because he’s pinned to the ship by burning lumber and the wrong kind of smoke is filling his lungs.

He watches silently as Rafe cuts into his baby brother again and again until there’s nothing left of Nathan but a bloody smear. Shelley hands him his check and he tells her to keep the change.

* * *

“Can you tell me your name?”

“...Samuel.”

“Samuel what?”

“Morgan.”

“Okay… can you try again? Can you tell me your name?”

“...Sam Drake.”

“Alright, that’s really good. Do you know what the date is, Sam?”

“...I think it’s Tuesday.”

“Mm… alright, why don’t you try your birthday? Can you tell me that?”

“April twelfth.”

“Can you tell me your brother’s name?”

“it’s Nathan.”

“And what’s my name?”

Sam blinked. The splotches of light in his vision merged together to form a face.

“...Where’s your hat?”

“My hat?”

“Yeah, you’re not wearing your hat anymore… did you lose it?”

“It’s on your head. I didn’t have any bandages so I used it to stop the bleeding.”

“I’m bleeding?” Sam touched his forehead. He felt a band of ragged wool wrapped tightly around his head. Beneath it felt tender and raw. A wave of emotion overtook him, “Fuck… Charlie, I’m sorry. Your hat. I fucked up your hat.”

“Hey, don't worry about the hat. I can get another one -- don’t try to move too much,” Charlie took his hand and gently guided it away from his head injury and back down to his side, “Now, can you tell me, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“I… I was… um… I bent down to get in the cave… I turned my flashlight on…,” Sam trailed off, trying to remember but his head was pounding and his shoulder hurt with a radiating pain like he’d been skewered clear through the joint, “Charlie, my shoulder hurts.”

“Which side?”

“Right.”

Charlie leaned over him and applied light pressure with his fingertips, feeling around the joint.

Sam  _ screamed _ . Charlie jerked back.

“Alright, okay. That’s. Definitely not supposed to be that shape. I think you’ve dislocated it.”

“No  _ shit _ , Sherlock,” Sam's voice came through gritted teeth as he kicked his legs, shaking out the pain. The sudden jolt had him feeling alert again. He looked around for the first time since waking up. They were on a damp, stone floor and the jagged walls of the cave around them glistened, illuminated by the flashlight on Charlie’s phone. Sam took a few deep breaths, trying to tear his mind from the pain, “Where the fuck are we?”

“At the bottom of the cave. The path gave out and you took a tumble. Knocked yourself unconscious.”

“How long was I out?”

“Umm… about… ten? ten, fifteen minutes?”

“Okay… okay, uh…” Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “alright, listen to me Charlie… I’m gonna need you to pop my shoulder back in.”

“Sorry, what?”

“It’s… um… it’s not hard, you’re just gonna need to--,”

“I know  _ how _ to do it, I’m just… really, really,  _ really _ not qualified, I don’t want to do any permanent damage or--”

“Charlie I swear to God I will kill you myself if you don’t put my fucking shoulder back in.”

Charlie nodded breathlessly as he gathered his resolve, “Alright… alright… do you need anything?? To bite down on or?”

“No -- just… do it fast, okay?”

“Okay, um…” Charlie positioned himself by Sam’s side, “I’m going to use my foot as leverage, okay?”

Sam nodded, his eyes still pinched shut.

Charlie placed his hands on Sam’s wrist and forearm and gently nudged his foot into place between his arm and torso, “Christ, okay --  _ Evie’d kill me if she found out about this _ \-- this is  _ really _ gonna hurt, are you ready?”

“Charlie please shut the fuck up and just do it,” Sam panted.

One more shaky breath and Charlie began pulling Sam’s arm towards him steadily, pushing against the side of his body with the full force of his leg. Sam exploded into yelling just about every explicative in every language he knew. 

There was a bodily “click” and Sam kicked Charlie away and rolled onto his side, gasping in relief. The two of them laid there, panting on the ground. Charlie started laughing. Quietly at first until it built into a loud barking, “Mate, you kick like a  _ girl _ .”

Sam kicked him again, for good measure, “Obviously you’ve never been kicked by  _ Nadine Ross _ .”

Charlie was still laughing when he got up and helped Sam upright, “No I haven’t, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He looked at Sam’s limp arm dangling awkwardly at his side. “Here,” he said, shirking off his jacket. He folded it around Sam’s arm and fastened the sleeves around his neck to make a sling, “that’ll keep it from moving around too much. I do want the jacket back, though. So be careful with it.”

“Thanks.”

Now that he was on his feet, Sam tried to take stock of the situation. He picked up his flashlight which had rolled some distance away and smacked it against his hand trying to turn it on. The reflector was smashed to hell and all it could offer was a dim glow. He checked his pocket for his lighter and that was gone too.

“Here,” Charlie handed him his phone, “it’s the best we’ve got.”

Looking around with the phone light, he could see they were in a large underground chamber. To the far side there was a shallow creek that curved deeper into the cave around jagged stalagmites that bit through the floor like teeth. Behind him there was a steep, rocky slope that erupted from an opening high on the cave wall. 

“Is that where I fell from?”

“Yeah, it looked like you broke through a fissure or something -- the tunnel you were in runs parallel up along this ceiling.”

“It doesn’t look like there’s any place secure enough to climb.”

“You’re not climbing  _ anything _ with that dud arm of yours, mate.”

Sam turned the phone light back onto Charlie, “and you just… jumped down here? Why didn’t you anchor a rope or something.”

“I didn’t  _ see _ anything to anchor on -- and I was more focused on making sure you weren’t dead. You didn’t  _ answer _ when I called down to you.”

Sam looked back at the slope. There was no way they were getting back the way they came. 

“Okay, so let’s uh…” Sam gestured across the chamber, dismissing some of his agitation, “let’s follow this river upstream. The water’s gotta be coming from somewhere, right?”

“I mean,  _ sure _ , it could be coming from an underground  _ spring  _ or an  _ aquifer  _ or--”

“Hey, hey, let’s maybe lighten up with the negative attitude here?”

Charlie shook his head, “Well I’m sorry if I don’t want to just prance willy-nilly into some unmapped, possibly unstable cave system on an island no one even knows exists.”

“Well then maybe you should’ve thought of that before you jumped into a fucking hole in the ground.”

He fixed him with a hard stare. Charlie looked like he was considering an argument, but dropped it and shrugged in concession, “Alright, lay on, then.”

Sam took the lead. The stream was only a few inches deep but it moved with a steady rolling pace as they followed it deeper into the cavern.

Charlie was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked. No commentary on rock formations or allegories of caves or whatever. Sam felt a pang of guilt for being so short with him -- since it was his own damn fault for getting hurt in the first place -- but with how badly his head was pounding, he was just thankful for the silence. Even the quiet dripping of moisture from the ceiling above seemed thunderous in his ears.

As they walked, the cavern became more of a tunnel. The ceiling pitched back down again until it was only a few feet above their heads and the surface of the walls became smoother, as if shaped by the passage of water. Sam wondered if these caves would have been submerged had the tide been any higher. The stream broadened across the width of the tunnel until they had no choice but to wade through the low current. It was icy cold and smelled of salt and the peculiar scent of metal which Sam had noticed in the cave entrance. It deepened as they carried on, up to their shins and then to their knees -- and the fear that they were moving further down into the earth struck Sam in the space between his shoulder blades. It seemed like they had been on level ground, but he’d been feeling agitated and nauseous since he woke up, and as the water continued to rise he wondered if he’d completely lost his sense of orientation. 

“Do you hear that?” asked Charlie, speaking up for the first time in close to an hour. 

“Hear what?” Sam knitted his brow, trying to listen. He couldn’t detect anything past the ringing in his own ears.

“Sounds like… falling water? Give that to me,” he grabbed the phone out of Sam’s hands and jogged ahead. Sam really didn’t have the energy to argue so he trailed behind at his own pace. 

“There’s a waterfall,” Charlie’s voice echoed in the cavern. The paltry light of his phone caught the jagged edges of the rocky facade. It wasn’t very large, but it was a good sign they were headed in the right direction. Once Sam caught up, he placed a tentative hand on the surface. The water had a silty, almost viscous texture to it, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to climb this.” 

Charlie took a moment to assess. He shone the flashlight on a pronounced handhold near the top, “If I gave you a boost, do you think you could hoist yourself up on that?”

Sam tried to gauge his exhaustion, “Yeah… yeah, I think so -- but you’re gonna have to get me up pretty high.”

“I can do that -- here, step on and let’s try to get you up on my shoulders.”

Charlie hunched over and offered Sam a foothold in his cupped hands. Shakily, he stepped on, bracing against the surface of the waterfall with his good arm. Using a little momentum, he swung his other foot up onto Charlie’s shoulder, kneeing him in the jaw in the process. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright, just--,” Charlie heaved and lifted Sam’s other leg up for him to step onto the opposite shoulder. They must have looked like a shaking mess, with Sam squatting awkwardly on Charlie’s shoulders like they were playing a sorry game of chicken. 

“Can you try standing up?”

“Yeah, hang on--” Sam guided himself upright, steadying himself against the rock, “it’s still too high for me to reach.”

“Okay,” Charlie grunted, “I’m gonna lift up your foot, but then it’s all on you.”

“Alright.”

“On three, okay?”

“Okay.”

Charlie took hold of Sam’s foot, getting ready to lift, “One… two…  _ three-- _ ” and, with as much force as he could muster, shoved him upwards. Sam braced and pushed himself off, grabbing the handhold and kicking up against the wall, wrenching himself up with tremendous effort. He rolled onto his back and tried to catch his breath, his head pounding from exertion. He barely noticed Charlie climbing up on his own and taking a seat next to him.

When he didn’t say anything, Charlie nudged him with his foot, “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” said Sam, keeping his eyes closed.

“You look a bit pale.”

“I said I’m fine. I just need a breather.”

He laid there quietly. After a few minutes he became aware of Charlie tossing pebbles around somewhere by his feet. He tried to ignore him.

“So,” Charlie said, as if subconsciously defying his desire for silence, “Is Morgan your middle name then?”

“What?”

“When you first woke up and I asked your name, you said it was Sam Morgan.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did, though.”

“No, I didn’t. I don’t remember you asking my name at all.”

“That’s… probably not good, because I absolutely asked you and you absolutely answered.”

Sam tried to think of how else Charlie would know the name Morgan. All he could come up with was a dull throb.

“Yes. It’s my middle name.”

“Do you remember asking about my hat?”

“No, Charlie, I don’t give a fuck about your hat. Why are you interrogating me?”

There was a long pause. 

“I don’t think you should be lying down.”

“Why the fuck not?”

Suddenly he was being hoisted up onto his feet again and there was a light being flashed into his eyes. He wanted to shout.

“I think we need to keep moving. We should get you to a hospital.”

“I don’t need to go to a hospital, I’m fine.”

But Charlie was already pushing him forward with a hand planted firmly on his back. Sam shuffled onwards, caught between wanting to lie down again and wanting to deck Charlie in the face. 

“I want a cigarette,” he mumbled, wondering where his lighter had gone. 

This raised section of the cave was narrower than the passage below, and bore a steeper incline. It was hard to find stable footing in the running water so they moved slowly and carefully. The smell of salt and metal was overwhelming, almost like blood in the back of his mouth. Maybe he did have blood in his mouth.

As they walked, he felt the chorus of stalactites over his head descend further and further from the ceiling. It took the sound of Charlie’s laboured breathing for him to realize that they weren’t getting longer, but that the ceiling was becoming lower. Charlie had been walking in front of him for the past half hour, so he hadn’t really noticed his change in bearing. 

Sam stopped, “Charlie?”

His partner turned, looking pale and coiled with panicked energy, “What? Why are you stopping?”

“Are you… alright?”

“No, no I’m not, but we’ve got to get out of this fucking… ditch… don’t we.”

Sam shook his head, something chiming in the back of his mind that he needed to be delicate about this, “Listen, um, I’m sorry I was rude about your hat. I’m feeling okay now -- do you want me to take the lead here?”

Charlie considered this. After a moment he nodded his head lightly and passed the flashlight to Sam, mumbling something about ropes and anchors.

“Probably better if I can… watch you, anyway. Make sure you’re not stumbling.”

In all honesty Sam wasn’t feeling any better than before, but he’d definitely been through worse. He took an easy stride past Charlie and continued their ascent.

The ground began to level out further down the passage, and the current slowed so that they were trudging through calm waters. In this section of the caves, the slate grey walls gave way to milky grey flowstone that twisted its way down to the ground. It was beautiful to look at but the rocky deposits choked the passage even further. Before long, Sam was ducking his head and holding the light above him to keep himself from knocking into stray protrusions. He could hear Charlie murmuring something rhythmic behind him, barely audible.

He had never been claustrophobic himself, but the diminishing pathway had his heart pounding for fear of a dead end. He tried to gauge how long they had been walking. His sense of time was starting to get fuzzy. It was so dark in here. Cold. He wondered if they had missed another tunnel or opening on the way up. He could hear now that Charlie seemed to be reciting the final monologue from  _ Doctor Faustus _ in quick, shallow breaths. What a morbid choice. 

“Hey, Charlie?”

“ _ \--Stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike… the devil will come, and Faustus must be damned-- _ ”

“Charlie, are you with me?”

“What? What is it, why are we stopping?”

Sam could hear the tremor in Charlie’s voice. He swallowed the ache in his bones and turned to look at him for the first time since they had swapped out. He looked wild-eyed and dazed. 

“There’s… kind of a low overhang here,” Sam braced himself for the panic he knew was about to impale Charlie, “I think we’re gonna have to crawl under it.”

“No.”

“Listen, I can see up ahead and… it looks like… it looks like it opens up again. I can see the end of the crawl--”

“No. No no no--,”

“Charlie, I can’t… I can’t hold the light with my arm like this, so I’m gonna give it to you to hold, okay? You can watch me go through, and I’ll wait for you on the other end, okay?”

Charlie was shaking his head furiously, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, grasping for a way out of this. Sam pressed the light into his hand and held it there for a moment, his fingers wrapped around Charlie’s, “Give me another monologue to get us through this, okay? Something happy this time.”

Charlie nodded, but he looked like he wanted to pass out.

Sam shifted down onto his good elbow and slipped under the rock. In this position his chin was just barely above the water and he had to press his cheek against the low ceiling to keep it out of his mouth. He used his thighs to push himself along, being careful not to bump his head and fully black out. Behind him he could hear Charlie start his mantra again. 

It was maybe twenty feet worth of crawling, but it took him a few minutes to get through with the awkward angle of his body and his useless arm. He knocked the back of his head trying to stand up on the other end and bit back a string of curses as it sent knives of pain crashing through his skull.

He caught his breath, “Alright.  _ Fuck _ . Okay, Charlie. Come on through.”

He heard Charlie mumble a string of  _ shit, fuck, piss, bollocks  _ and then a quiet splash as he lowered himself into the crawlspace. His voice came frantic and shakily:

_ “--how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his fucking behaviours to love, fuck, fuck, fuck--” _

“You’re doing good, Charlie.”

“ _ \--now he will lie ten nights awake--” _

“Almost there, watch your head on the way up.”

“ _ \--may I be so converted and -- piss, shit, come on, Charlie -- see with these eyes-- _ ”

And he was through and standing and shaking and breathing in and out with purpose. Sam slapped him on the back, “There. You did it.”

Charlie looked like he was about to vomit. Either that or about to dislocate Sam’s other shoulder. When he was sufficiently calm, he shone the light around their new locale. It was a tall, vertical chamber, striped with blue-ish flowstone that dripped down its walls. 

There was no exit.

“Fuck,” Sam croaked, “No. Christ.  _ What the fuck. _ ”

Charlie relapsed into a panicked cycle of  _ no’s. _

“What the hell, Sam. What did I say…. about the aquifers!! The spring heads!! Didn’t I say!! We're going to fucking die in here, I  _ said _ the river was a bad idea--"

“Oh, so this is  _ my _ fault? Sorry I forgot to install a fucking  _ exit hatch _ when I personally built this cave to screw us over.”

“We should never have left the first spot -- I  _ told _ you it was from a spring. We could’ve... figured out a way to climb up, or--”

“Or maybe you could’ve waited three seconds before throwing yourself in a hole with no plan to get back out.”

“I was  _ worried--” _

“Wait, what is that?”

“What is--”

“Shut up--” Sam dismissed him with an agitated wave. Behind Charlie, on the other side of the chamber, he could see a faint light in the water. He splashed over to the other wall, the ground canting downwards steeply so that the water was above his waist. He held out his hand beneath the surface.

“There’s a current coming through here. Turn off that light.”

Charlie obliged wordlessly.

In the dark there was no denying it. A faint blue light radiated from a breach in the rocks. The opening was small. But maybe just big enough.

Charlie turned the light back on, “Is that… daylight?”

“I think this may be our way out,” Sam laughed, taking a step towards him.

Charlie took a step back.

“Sam, I… I don’t think I can do that.”

They stood motionless, staring at each other from across the chamber. They must’ve been a pitiful sight; Charlie sickly pale and rigid as stone, Sam beat half to hell and patched up with winter accessories. 

“We don’t have a choice.”

“Maybe we could go back -- all the way to the start, we could try to find a way to--”

“Charlie, you know that’s not gonna work. Listen, we got this far. You made it through that crawlspace, you can do it again--”

“I  _ can’t _ . Not that, Sam.”

Sam took two more steps forward and Charlie took two more back, “Let me help you. We can do this together. We’re so close, Charlie.”

“That passage is  _ not _ big enough for the both of us.”

“Then,” Sam looked at the climbing rope attached to Charlie’s carabiner, “then we go one at a time -- I’ll go first, I’ll bring the rope with me and you can hold the other end. When I come out on the other side, you can just… hang tight and I’ll pull you through.”

“ _ I can’t. _ Sam, I… How do you even know you’ll make it to the surface? We don’t know how deep that passage is, we don’t even know if you’ll be able to fit through--”

“If I can’t, then I’ll come back up and we can do things your way, we can trek back to the start. Just. Trust me on this, Charlie.”

_ “Trust you?” _ Charlie exploded at a volume Sam didn’t know he was capable of, “I’ve been nothing but trusting and forthright, and you pull a  _ gun _ on me!! You’re the one who went off into the caves by yourself, and now you’re asking me to trust  _ you?” _

Sam felt the spike of pain in his system turn into a spike of anger, “I wasn’t going to  _ shoot  _ you. I told you -- you  _ startled _ me. What the fuck were you even sneaking up on me for?”

_ “You took the fucking safety off.” _

“I took the safety off because you  _ startled  _ me -- why the fuck were you creeping up behind me at  _ ass o’clock  _ in the morning?”

“Because I wasn’t expecting you to try to kill me!” he shouted, “Look mate, I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I have  _ tried _ to be amicable. I haven’t done  _ anything _ to wrong you. But you insist on having your gun, you take the safety off like you’re ready to kill and then you lie to me about why you’re on edge. How am I supposed to trust you when you clearly don’t trust  _ me?” _

“I am not  _ lying _ to you, Charlie.  _ You’re  _ the one looking for shit that isn’t there.”

“Then what is it about  _ me _ that’s so untrustworthy? Is it what happened in Syria? Did Sully tell you to watch your back around me?”

Sam tried to catch his breath, his anger was draining him and he was starting to feel dizzy again, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Charlie.”

“Don’t start lying to me again. Surely, Nate must have told you -- I almost killed him for Christ’s sake. I almost killed him and then Sully almost killed me.”

This was the first that Sam had heard of this. Nathan had told him about Syria before -- the time he was searching for the Pillars of Iram. He told him that Chloe, Charlie and Victor were there. He told him about the spiders, about Talbot’s magic act, about Charlie breaking his leg. But there was no mention of… whatever this was.

“Look,” he said, thinking of how fondly his brother always spoke of his go-to guy, Charlie Cutter, “Nathan told me everything, and if he trusts you, I trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Charlie thought on this. He let out a shaky breath and ran a trembling hand over his forehead. 

“I just… don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

Sam was surprised at how personally Charlie seemed to be taking this. It  _ wasn’t  _ personal. It was business. It was _ caution.  _ He couldn’t really say why he’d been feeling so on-edge, but it wasn’t reassuring to hear that Charlie had  _ done  _ something to Nathan.

But right now, they needed to get out of this cave.

“You’re not gonna hurt me, Charlie.”

“Sam--,”

He reached out his hand, keeping his voice low, “You can trust me.”

Charlie nodded, closing his eyes like he was trying to will away his distress. 

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Sam answered back. 

He guided him down to the opening and took the rope from his belt. They secured one end to a carabiner on Sam’s belt loop and Charlie took hold of the other end. 

“One tug means it’s a no-go and you can pull me back up, two tugs means it’s safe for you to come through.”

Charlie nodded, apparently too apprehensive for words. Sam squeezed his arm and tried to offer him a reassuring smile.

He stepped away and got as close to the breach as he could. He pulled in a deep breath and took the plunge. The breach was just barely wide enough for his shoulders. It was a little difficult to move his body forward against the current with one arm out of commission. He felt around the surface of the rocks with his free hand and tried to guide himself through, his eyes stinging in the frigid water. The squeeze forced him downwards, the pressure building in his ears as the passage tightened.

He followed the light.

His lungs were starting to burn, the walls around him cold and oppressive. He felt like he could barely move. He could see the light. He forced himself forward, kicking off whatever point of leverage he could find behind him. He could see the light. His bad shoulder jammed up against the slender lip of a rock face -- he was so close -- he balled up his fist and bashed the stone as hard as he could, battling against the water resistance, thumping down so hard he could feel the impact on his shoulder beneath it, then -- it cracked. The ledge crumbled and he felt himself slip out. He swam upwards, his legs and arm moving in broad, open strokes. 

He gasped for air as he broke the surface, coughing, filling his lungs with icy, silty air. He’d never tasted anything so sweet. 

The pool was deep, and the water was a brilliant sapphire blue. He waded over to a low rock ledge and hoisted himself onto the surface, catching his breath. Above him was a wide, open skylight and he could see those silvery-grey Scottish clouds roll overhead with the empty threat of rain. He ran his fingers across the carabiner on his hip. He sat up and looked at the rope trailing from the puncture in the cave wall that he had squeezed through.

Charlie was a little shorter than him, but broader in the shoulders. He could definitely make it through, but it would be… difficult. He hoped that trust and the promise of freedom would be enough to get him through. He gave the rope two sharp tugs.

Nothing happened.

He waited a minute. No tension on the rope, no Charlie. He tugged two more times.

He counted three minutes. He felt the rope tug back. He clamoured to his feet and started pulling the rope through. The give was slow, shaky -- he could feel the slack in tiny increments as Charlie moved along. He counted one minute. He should have been nearing the chokepoint. The rope stopped moving. He counted two minutes. He tried pulling towards him, yanking the rope forward with what little strength he had left. Two minutes and thirty seconds. The image of Charlie, trapped, enclosed, suffocating -- the rope went slack and bounded up and out of the water as he fell back. “Fuck,” he panted, “ _ fuck _ .”

He was running, diving back in, about to plunge back down -- when Charlie’s head popped up above the surface, coughing up a mouthful of water. He splashed frantically over to the shore, Sam trailing behind him. As they crawled out and collapsed on the ground, the only sound was dripping water and laboured breathing. 

Sam started laughing, weak and raspy. He patted Charlie’s shoulder with a shaky hand. Charlie could only exhale something close to a sob. He slipped a hand around Sam’s wrist and held it there as he caught his breath. 

“Glad I don’t smoke,” he coughed.

Sam laughed. Charlie helped him to his feet and they surveyed the shaft they were now in. The walls of the cave rose high above them, gathering into an almost perfect circle skylight. They were at the base of a cenote some hundred feet down. About halfway up, dilapidated bones of scaffolding clung to the walls in a spiral that ascended to the surface. The cave walls themselves were textured in a rhythmic, unnatural pattern as if someone had carved away at them over the years. They were dappled with fissures and openings along the wooden constructions. 

“I wonder if that tunnel you fell through led here…” Charlie said, pulling out his notebook and then sliding it back into his pocket on realizing that it was sopping wet. 

“Looks like somebody was very busy on this island.”

There was an opening just above the shore on the other side of the pool. 

“Come on,” said Sam.

Unlike the tunnels they had been braving for the better half of the day, this opening looked manmade. Stairs were cut from the stone itself and alcoves were notched into the walls as if to mount torches or lanterns. They followed the path up until it emptied into a wide plateau and the far side of the cavern opened up to a great, yawning view. They could see the ocean.

“I think we’re on the cliff face, on the south end,” said Charlie. 

Sam wasn’t listening though. Breathlessly, he stumbled towards a low, mossy outcrop that was recessed into the eastern wall. A manmade structure. The roof was adorned by an ancient whale’s rib cage, and strung from the doorway were chains of twisted, deformed sheep bones. Skulls with extra eye sockets, misshapen jaws, teeth lining all the wrong planes and pouring out the wrong orifices. Sam turned one over in his hand, “Well, Meredith,” he said, “I  _ hate _ what you’ve done with the place.”

Charlie bounded over, reaching into his pocket for his notebook again, already forgetting that it was wet, “Christ, she really was here. Or at least,  _ someone _ was.”

Sam parted the boney curtains and entered the shack. Every surface was covered in cryptic white text -- painted on frantically, with what, he couldn’t tell. There were diagrams and maps and star charts; some notes even painted on top of older, more faded lines. In the centre of the room was a stone slab with a carved map of Eurasia and the painted words:  _ His Gate Shall Open _ . Sam brushed his fingers over it. It was weathered by time, but at three distinct points on the map there were groves cut deeply into the stone --  _ chalices _ \-- that held a glimmering blue mineral. The Hebrides, Siberia, and somewhere in Southeast Asia. He unfolded his pocket knife and used the tip to pry one of the stones free.

It was about the size of a pea and was far heavier than he expected. He turned it over in his palm. It felt warm and almost seemed to be  _ vibrating _ . He held it up to his ear and jerked away when he heard it emit a low hum. He laughed and stretched out his hand to show Charlie.

He wasn’t smiling.

“You’re bleeding again.”

  
  



	6. Connection

Evie had soft hands that smelled of lavender cream. She was very gentle as she touched his face, examining his forehead and peering into his eyes with a small hand light. She was beautiful. Pretty lips, big front teeth (in a way he thought was charming), messy brown hair in a tired braid. She looked a lot like Charlie, but softer, more delicate -- the smooth edges of someone who had lived a comfortable life. But her eyes were stern; a sharp, intelligent blue with none of the warmth he’d come to see in Charlie’s.

“As long as you keep him under observation, you should be alright to head home. If he’s been stable for this long that’s a good sign, but the next forty-eight hours will be important to monitor. Any memory or mood changes, any vomiting… I’d advise getting him to a clinic.” she clicked off her light and stood up to meet Charlie’s anxious gaze.

Sam rubbed his eyes with open palms. It had taken them seven hours to get off the island and into a motel room just outside of Glasgow, and Charlie hadn’t let him sleep for any of that time. He had called Evie using the satellite phone when they got back to the boat and Sam could hear yelling on the other end about _how exactly was she supposed to drop everything and drive to Scotland._ She met them, regardless. Charlie introduced her as Evelynn, but she smacked him away and said, _“Christ, just Evie is fine.”_

“I told you I didn’t need to go to a hospital,” said Sam.

Evie turned a pointed look in his direction, “I would’ve preferred it to driving for six hours on a weeknight. And you really _should_ get a CT scan.”

Sam raised his hands defensively. This woman had the biting energy of a Catholic nun.

“ _Thank you_ , Evie,” Charlie said, stepping forward and setting his hands on her shoulders, “I really owe you one. I’m sorry for calling you out like this.”

“You bloody well should be,” Evie mumbled, “I’m a _paediatrician_ , Charlie -- but that doesn’t mean you and your mates’ immaturity qualifies you for my care. I wish you’d be more responsible.”

“I know, I know, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Evie frowned. She glanced at Sam as if he were an afterthought.

“Charlie, can we speak outside for a moment?”

♢

“ _\--that you’re getting on in years. You can’t keep doing this._ ”

_“It was just a caving accident; it could’ve happened to anybody.”_

_“That’s not my point, Charlie. Your mate is lucky he wasn’t any worse for wear -- and, what were you even doing in a cave? You **hate** caves--”_

_“It’s for work.”_

_“Christ, it’s always work with you. It was work when that thug broke your nose with the pipe, when you cracked your ribs in Italy, when you shattered your bloody femur -- do you know how hard it is to break a femur?”_

_“I am very well aware--”_

_“Most people’s workplace injuries are, like… a slipped disc or carpal tunnel. You’re forty-three for Christ’s sake, can’t you just… teach literature or, I don’t know, work with Blake on digs if you’ve got to be outside?”_

_“Evie, I promise we’re being careful, we’re not even getting shot at this time.”_

_“Do you even hear yourself? What am I supposed to tell Mum and Dad if you go and off yourself on a… a… stalactite or something?”_

_“Stalagmite.”_

_“What?”_

_“Well stalactites are the ones on the ceiling, stalagmites are the ones on the floor so if I were to fall--”_

_“Oh my God, can you stop? For three seconds, even? Charlie… this isn’t about money, is it?”_

_“Evie--”_

_“I can pay my own loans now -- and Mum and Dad, the house is paid off already, so I don’t want to hear that as an excuse--”_

_“Evie you’re gonna work yourself into a fit. I like what I do and I’m **good** at it -- I haven’t turned up dead yet and I promise I’ll keep it that way. You just worry about yourself, your family. I can take care of myself.”_

_“Charlie, just because I’ve got my own family now doesn’t mean you’re not still part of it.”_

Charlie spoke too quietly for Sam to hear his next words through the door. It sounded like they were wrapping up their conversation, so he shuffled quietly back to the bed to sit down and act natural.

It was a minute or two before they stepped back into the room. Evie looked a little softer in the eyes.

“Right, so,” she pointed a finger at Charlie, “you -- remember to change his bandages when you get back. Sam can sleep if he’d like but for the first night just check on him every few hours that nothing’s gotten worse.”

She pointed at Sam now, “And you -- you sleep, couple of days, long as it takes to start feeling better. And don’t move your bloody arm. No climbing, no caving, no… I don’t know, fist fights or brawling.”

Sam nodded, “got any painkillers for me, Doc?”

“You can get ibuprofen at the chemist.”

“What, no oxy?”

“Absolutely not,” the ice in her glare was back.

“I can’t stay the night,” she said, “Polly’s got a sports day at school tomorrow and I promised I’d be there. Now, I can drive the two of you to Bristol with me, but you’ll need to get a train back to London by yourselves.”

♢

“Wait… can you see me? I can see you, can you--”

Sam was looking at a patch of floor partially obscured by Nathan’s hand, “No, you gotta flip the camera.”

“Flip the--” he caught the top half of Nathan’s head as he very apparently rotated the phone in his hands. Sam could hear Elena’s voice in the background, _“No, babe, you -- here… it’s this one.”_

The screen went black for a split second and then Nathan and Elena’s faces popped up, clearly this time, _“Oh, well why didn’t it just start out like that?”_

Elena wrinkled her nose and mussed up Nathan’s hair. She smiled through the camera, “Hi, Sam.”

“Hi, Elena.”

She gave him a little wave and walked off-screen. ~~~~

“Hey, oh, wow, you -- uh… you kinda look like shit.”

“Thank you, Nathan. How kind of you to notice.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Nathan trailed off and then made a vague gesture towards his shoulder, “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam scratched at the heavy stubble that’d grown out over the past week of sleeping for fourteen hours a day, “It’s just hard to shave with my left hand. You know I don’t think I even need the sling anymore -- I can already kind of move my arm around… just, you know, not for anything exciting.”

Nathan nodded, “Uh, Cutter said you got… concussed?”

“Yeah, floor gave out. No big deal, nothing lying on my ass and watching TV for a few days can’t fix.”

Nathan laughed, but his eyes were still fixed on the angry dappled bruise painted across Sam’s forehead.

“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” Sam asked, when it was clear his brother had lost himself in thought again, “I thought you were supposed to be filming in Montenegro this week?”

“Oh, yeah -- we pushed it back another two weeks, Cassie’s had this weird stomach bug so we’ve been back and forth at the doctor and, I don’t know he says it’ll pass, but I don’t know about leaving her with Elena’s mom when--” Nathan stopped and shook his head, “Wait, sorry. I haven’t been sleeping much. How’s your thing going? I haven’t heard from you since Russia.”

“Uh, it’s going,” Sam pushed himself off the couch to go search for their piece of crystal, “It’s been a little more involved than I thought it would be. No competition so far though, so it’s nice not getting shot at, here look at this--”

He set his phone down against a stack of books on the dining table and held up the stone they’d been keeping in a whiskey glass since they’d gotten back. He turned it around in his fingers for Nathan to see.

“Looks like… a rabbit turd. What’s it made of?”

“I dunno yet,” Sam tossed it up in the air and caught it, “It’s really dense and it makes this weird noise if you listen real close. We think it’s some kind of meteorite, but I’ve been reading up and I can’t find anything else like it.”

“Is that all you’ve found?”

“So far. The island we were on was on the edge of some kind of… impact crater? Maybe? There were these chambers that had been mined clean, so we think Meredith harvested what was there and jumped ship.”

“Shit, so there wasn’t anything left?”

“Well, yes and no -- she left a lot of… I guess you could call them notes. I’ll send you some pictures later. It was very… _A Beautiful Mind_. Important part is, there was a map, and we’ve got reason to believe there’s more where this baby came from.”

Nathan smiled and nodded enthusiastically, “So where are you guys headed?”

“Cambodia. We’re working on following Meredith’s trail to find out exactly what part. It’s weird, there’s a few travel records, she went back and forth a few times in 1893 -- and then she just vanished. Charlie’s been doing some digging on that.”

“Oh, that was another thing I wanted to ask you about -- how have you guys been getting along? I was kind of worried you’d butt heads…” Nathan laughed, “Maybe even literally.”

Sam shrugged, “He’s… he’s alright, I like him. He’s pretty smart... very _cavalier…_ Did he tell you that it was his fault we got trapped in those caves?”

“No, actually, he said it was because you went ahead without him.”

“Ehh, to-may-to to-mah-to. Anyway, doesn’t really measure up to the _Drake Brother_ duo, but… he’s a pretty decent partner, I guess. Keeps trying to get me to watch these soccer matches with him though, God, what is that team…”

“Arsenal.”

“Yeah, Arsenal. I don’t care about sports, but I dunno, it’s kind of fun. He’s got good taste in music, too.”

In the background of the call, he could hear Elena calling for Nathan.

“Yeah--?? Oh.. Yeah, I’ll be right up -- Sorry, Sam; Cassie isn’t taking her medicine again so I’m gonna give Elena a hand…”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam made a small, startled noise, “Shit, wait -- before you go can I ask you about something?”

Nathan looked a little addled, his mind was clearly already upstairs, “Yeah, what is it?”

Sam took a deep breath as he searched for the right words, “You remember when you told me about… the Citadel, in Syria?”

“Yeah?”

“Was there anything you left out? With Charlie? Before he broke his leg, maybe? A fight or something?”

Nathan looked off into the distance, racking his brain, “...When he was tripping?”

“Tripping?”

“Yeah, on the… the stuff. You know… the stuff?? Talbot drugged him and he kinda lost it. He tried to choke me out, but I don’t think he could even tell who I was. Sorry, I guess I didn’t think to mention it -- Chloe and Sully stopped him pretty quick, and then so much happened afterwards…”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, no, that’s fine. I get it.”

“You’re not worried, are you? Cutter’s a really good guy, I wouldn’t have set you guys up if I didn’t think so.”

“No, I know… listen, go take care of your little niña, we can talk later.”

Nathan nodded and offered him a tiny, exhausted smile before hanging up. 

So, he was drugged. Briefly, Sam wondered how he would have fared in the same situation.

As if summoned by the thought, Sam could hear Charlie unlocking the front door and trudging up the few steps to the living area.

“Oh, you’re up early today, _darling_ ,” he said, slinging the bag off his shoulder. He made his way over to the dining table which had become their base of operations over the past week.

“I just got off the phone with Nathan.”

“Oh? How’s he doing?”

Sam shrugged, “Fine, I guess. Just catching him up on our shit. What’s in the bag?”

Charlie unzipped the pack and lifted out a manila folder, “Photocopies. I’ve been to the library.”

“You know there’s this really cool thing called the internet--”

Charlie frowned and tossed the folder onto the table, “The _best_ of things can’t be found online, you know. Here, have a look at this.”

He pulled out a xeroxed sheet. It looked like a cargo manifest.

“I had to pull some strings with a mate up in Cambridge, but I got some documents transferred to the branch down here.”

“What am I looking at?”

Charlie trailed his finger down the columns until he arrived at a cluster of shipments marked with the name Meredith Alen-Buckley, “This was in 1894. As far as I’ve been able to investigate, this is one of the last known official documentations of Meredith before she disappeared. Take a look at the cargo.”

Sam read across the column, “Shit that’s a lotta weight…. almost 700 tons of, what… _Iron Ore_ …? You think that’s the meteorite she mined off the island?”

“I do… why else would she be shipping it halfway across the world. Here, it says it was delivered to the port of Óc Eo in _Cochinchina_ \-- Southern Vietnam -- and from there,” Charlie thumbed through the pages to find another manifest, “it was to be transported via river to Siem Reap.”

“Where it was sold to… _Monsieur Yannic Lavaud?_ Why does that name sound familiar?”

“I’ve got that in here, too,” Charlie pulled up a blotchy print out of a French newspaper article from 1906.

“I can’t read--”

_“Death in Cambodia! Colonial Wife Slays Husband, Children and Self.”_

“Yeah, I’ve definitely heard about this before. She went crazy or something and killed everybody with a garden spade, right?”

“Right -- it made national headlines in Cambodia and France. Lavaud was a very prominent figure in the local economy; he ran several mining operations in southern Cambodia, but in 1894 he moved north and started construction on a massive private quarry.”

“So,” said Sam, lining up all their documents, “Let’s connect the dots… First, Meredith sells her entire supply of meteorite, or Thinking Crystal, or magic fun rock to Lavaud in Cambodia -- which is where our third chalice is supposed to be. Then, Meredith disappears and Lavaud takes this stash to Siem Reap to start a new mine, where I guess he’s hoping to find more of it. Then, twelve years later, Lavaud’s wife loses her marbles and kills everybody.”

Charlie points out a passage in the newspaper article, “Right, and here it says the estate was inherited by his brother-in-law in Vietnam, but here’s the thing: the quarry never produced anything of worth. At least not on paper. So Lavaud’s brother-in-law abandoned the estate to continue his more profitable business in Vietnam, and to this day the estate _remains_ abandoned.”

“Can’t imagine vengeful ghosts do much for the property value,” Sam snorted, “But alright, so they don’t find anything in the quarry -- what about the 700 tons Lavaud bought off Meredith? What happened to that?”

“Well,” Charlie said with a twinkle in his eye, like he’d been waiting to make the big reveal, “Among the estate inventory, it’s noted that there was an underground _vault_ that they were never able to get into -- considering that the quarry never officially turned anything up, they must not have tried very hard.”

Sam smiled, he felt something like giddiness bubbling inside him, “Shit, you really dive deep with this stuff, huh? I’ve just been watching _The Big Lebowski_ on VHS all week.”

Charlie smiled back, a little flushed at the praise, “Well, you had to rest your pretty little head for a fair bit, so might as well make myself useful in the meantime. There’s one more thing, though -- you’re really gonna like this.”

He reached inside the backpack and pulled out his laptop. Flipping it open, he pulled up a tab to _The Siem Reap Museum of Cultural & Colonial Artefacts_. He scrolled down the page to an image of a glass display containing an Edwardian style dress, a small hand shovel and a set of jewellery. He clicked to enlarge the image.

“Is that--”

“It is.”

Madame Lavaud’s personal effects from the scene of the murder. The pair of earrings mounted on the display had a familiar blue tinge.

“Shit, Charlie,” Sam slapped him on the back. He let his hand linger there for a moment, “It’s been a while since I’ve worked with anyone this thorough. I guess I’ll have to brush up on my _Khmer_.”

“Actually,” Charlie sucked in a breath between closed teeth, “About that… I do know someone who happens to be fluent.”

Sam paused, processing, “What do you mean by that?”

Charlie looked away, “I mean that… well, this is turning out to be a bit bigger than we expected, yeah? And you’re still laid out with that arm of yours, so I thought--”

“What did you do.”

“I… I called Chloe.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Charlie,” Sam stepped away from the table.

“Listen, listen, I know-- I _know_ this has been our thing, but realistically, what are you gonna do if we get trapped again, or if we’re cornered and--”

“I’m _fine_ , Charlie -- look, I don’t even need this thing anymore,” Sam struggled to pull off his sling and waved his arm around limply to make some kind of point, “You _know_ how Chloe is, she’s gonna ask for a third of the cut.”

“Listen, we already talked about it and she’s taking twenty, that’s eighty between you and me and--” Charlie shuffled behind Sam as he excused himself to the sofa, “--and I think it’s worth it for the extra help. You can barely get your arm up to change your shirt by yourself -- I… I’m just worried about you.”

Sam kicked his legs up on the coffee table and turned on the TV, very pointedly keeping Charlie out of his line of sight, “Yeah, well I never asked you to be.”

♢

It took Sam about two days to cool off. He didn’t want to admit it, but he _was_ feeling pretty useless. He’d taken the sling off, but his shoulder still ached, and he felt the strain on his tendons whenever he raised his arm. He’d been trying to shave his ‘recovery beard’ with his left hand and been doing a pretty ass job of it -- making himself look like _Freddy Kreuger_. Charlie came in to collect laundry and had laughed at the mess, “Do you need a hand with that?”

It was meant as a joke, but he’d said yes. Only because he’d been through a three-year stint in prison where he’d been too depressed to shave and he’d hated having a beard since then. At least Charlie had been good natured about it and helped him clean up.

It was strange having him touch his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling the blade along Sam’s jaw, “About Chloe. I should’ve asked you first.”

“It’s okay,” Sam answered. He was right. They needed her help, and he would’ve put up a fight if he’d asked. He was grateful when Charlie didn’t push the matter further.

♢

“Okay, favourite _sci-fi_ movie then.” 

“Oh, easy -- _2001: A Space Odyssey_.”

Sam sneered, “Space Odyssey?? That movie was such… _horse shit_. It made zero sense.”

“It’s _A_ Space Odyssey, and that’s because you’re looking at it like a linear story -- but it’s more… _symbolic?_ That’s what makes it interesting.”

Their bags were packed and set near the door. It had been eight days since Charlie had called Chloe and they’d made all the necessary travel arrangements in that time. Chloe was on holiday in France and agreed to meet up with them tomorrow and leave for Cambodia the day after that.

Sam and Charlie had finished packing early, and with nothing better to do, had taken the night to do absolutely nothing. They were leaning back on the couch, two beers in, watching the first movie to pop up on the television. The volume was turned down way low and the plot had gotten lost in their conversation.

“I dunno, I didn’t get it. It felt like one of those weird art house films that are supposed to be deep but they’re just boring and confusing. Rafe used to watch this one _all_ the time, it was in black and white and it had this weird little baby thing in it and--”

“Who’s Rafe?”

Sam paused, his hands frozen mid-gesture, “Uh… guy I used to work with.”

“You’re not talking about Rafe Adler, are you? That rich bloke from America? I’ve seen him in magazines, heard he’s a real prick.”

“Yeah, he was.” Sam said curtly. “Anyway, he had awful taste in movies. I, however, do not, and my favourite sci-fi is _Terminator_.”

“Mate, Terminator is _shit_. But take it back a few steps, I didn’t know you and Adler were friends.”

“We weren’t.”

“Just fancied some movie time with him, then?”

“And if I did?”

Sam took a sip of his beer and reached for his cigarette. After some badgering Charlie had finally agreed to let him smoke inside, since he was _so_ grievously wounded. He took a hard drag and fixed his eyes on the television screen. Charlie took it this was a sore subject.

“Well,” he announced, reaching for his own beer, “I have to say I really took you as more of a _Back to the Future_ type of guy.”

“No, I hate that movie.”

“Now _that’s_ a surprise. Nate and I watched it together once -- in a motel in Croatia, I think. Seems just like your sort of thing.”

Sam shook his head, “I dunno, maybe I would’ve liked it but it’s kind of a weird memory for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh, my Dad took me to see it for my fourteenth birthday, actually -- which, _I might add_ , he completely missed by three months -- and on the way back to the Home, he told me he was moving to Philadelphia.”

Charlie looked at him with a quiet reservation, “You’ve never mentioned your parents before. Never heard about them from Nate, either.”

Sam took a drag from his cigarette and blew it out his nose, “Not much to say, I guess.”

“Sorry, if it’s a bad topic we can drop it.”

“No,” he shook his head; maybe he was in the mood for a little catharsis tonight, “They just… weren’t really in the picture. Mom died when I was ten and Frank -- my Dad -- he couldn’t deal with it. He could barely keep a job when she was alive, so after she died, he just couldn’t manage supporting a family. He lost the house and ended up putting Nathan and I in a home.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sam shook it off, his eyes still fixed on the distance, “You know, Frank, he… I guess he tried for a while. Then he got remarried. Stopped visiting. Moved away. That day he took me to the movies was the last time I saw him -- you know, he didn’t even tell Nathan he was leaving? Asshole let _me_ do that.”

Charlie looked very contemplative, “So… you’re telling me that there could be more little Drake siblings running around that you don’t even know about?”

Sam barked out a laugh, pulled back so unceremoniously from such a distant memory, “ _That’s_ what your takeaway is?”

Charlie started laughing too, “I’m just saying, two of you is bad enough -- imagine a whole _score_ of you.”

“God, I don’t even want to think about it. That’s… weird. I mean, I guess? I don’t know if he and Donna had kids. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

“Well, he sounds like a right arsehole so I can’t blame you for that.”

“Guess I come by it honestly,” Sam reached for the ashtray to snub out his cigarette, “So what about you? I’ve already met the lovely _Doctor Cutter,_ are there any more of you I should know about?”

“Actually, she’s Doctor Adeboye. She’s married.”

“Didn’t keep her last name?”

“No -- _Doctor Cutter_ sounds like some kind of horror villain. I imagine it’d be bad for business.”

“Ehh, she’s kinda scary anyway, it’d probably suit her.”

“What, Evie? _Scary?”_ Charlie sounded genuinely amused, “She couldn’t hurt a fly, that girl. Listen, she was just… miffed. She’s always like that when I’m working. But to answer your question, no, it’s just me and her. Mum and Dad are still around too, but they live in Cornwall now.”

Sam pictured that elderly couple from Charlie’s family album. His father’s rosy cheeks and extremely large turnip.

“How… _nuclear._ ”

“I s’pose. Sorry if you were hoping for something more exciting.”

“No, no,” Sam lit up another cigarette, “I gotta wonder though -- that all seems so cookie cutter, _haha_ , so… so, how did you?”

“End up in this line of work?”

Sam gestured for him to continue.

“Well, let’s see...” Charlie cleared his throat, “Alright, my Mum’s from Lebanon, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“When she and her parents moved to England, they started a little grocery store. Was all they had. My dad was local, he was a gardener -- so he wasn’t coming from much money either. They got married and when my grandparents passed, they took over the shop. I grew up playing in the trolleys and fighting with kids on the loading dock.”

Sam pictured a scaled-down version of Charlie, complete with bald head and battle scars taking swings at kids with broken bottles. He smiled at the image.

“So, my Dad, bless his soul, has _never_ been the brightest light and he’s absolute _shit_ with money. So, while I’m away at uni, he’s been racking up debt, mismanaging inventory -- Mum’s too busy with Evie to mediate -- and in an attempt to keep the store afloat, he starts taking out money with a _loan shark.”_

“Oh…” Sam grimaced.

“ _Oh._ Course, he doesn’t _tell_ any of us until he’s already arse-deep in trouble. I come home for break one semester, and the whole store is trashed. Consider it a warning, they said. So, my Dad is on his knees in the kitchen, crying, explaining it all to my Mum -- no idea what he’s gonna do about it.”

“Which is where you come in.”

Charlie nodded, “I’d been making ends meet at uni on scholarships and part-timing as a bouncer, cause, you know, I’m a big guy, I know how to hold my own. So, I ask a friend in the program if he can think of any… _less savoury_ jobs, that might pay a bit extra. He sets me up as the hired muscle and… the rest is history.”

“Wow,” Sam gawked, “So… once you paid off the loan, why’d you keep going?”

“I dunno,” said Charlie, “Why do _you?_ Isn’t it the sense of adventure? I mean, suddenly I had this way to make all my family’s problems disappear -- money management, security for my parents, even my little sister wanting to go to Med School -- and all I’ve got to do is take a lead pipe to the face every now and then? Sounds fucking exquisite to me.”

“Well, good to know you at least _enjoy_ getting your femur shattered.”

Charlie laughed his deep rumbling laugh, as if he really _had_ enjoyed breaking his leg, “It was like a _drug_ , mate. You know I got so involved I never even finished school. It was like, one moment, I’m reading about _Ctesiphon, of the Ancient Parthian Empire_ in a dusty old book and the next -- I’m scaling up the walls of the _Taq Kasra_ , trying not to get my head shot off. How _could_ I stop?”

“Maybe you and I aren’t so different after all,” Sam laughed, knocking back the rest of his beer, “But… I don’t know, you don’t regret it at all?”

“What, getting the shit beat out of me?”

“No -- the, I mean… I got into this shit so young, I’m not sure there ever _was_ a different life waiting for me, you know? But _you?_ You don’t regret leaving school? You’re so, uh, _academic_ \-- and all your friends--,”

“Not even for a moment,” Charlie interrupted, “I’ve had my ups and downs, but I can’t imagine living my life any other way.”

A thoughtful quiet descended over them, both of them lost to a moment of introspection. Charlie smirked and raised his beer. Sam clinked his empty bottle against it and smiled.

“I was shite at it anyway,” Charlie said, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, “School, I mean. I could never make my mind up on anything. Would’ve spent ten years studying a million different topics.”

“Like what?”

“Jesus, um… Well, I studied Classics for a while -- that’s what I was working on my thesis for… I tried art history, a few theatre classes, even music--”

“No shit? Cutter the Rockstar.”

“ _Please_ , it was _musical theory.”_

Sam pointed over to the guitar on the wall, “So, wait, can you actually play that thing?”

“ _Can I actually play that thing_ \-- what do you take me for?” and just like that, Charlie’s beer was down on the coffee table and he was up and grabbing his guitar off the wall.

“Oh, I’m getting a _demonstration_?” Sam really hadn’t had _that_ much to drink but he could barely contain his laughter.

“You will in a second,” Charlie said, pushing a small amp across the floor with his foot and fiddling with some wires. He plucked a string experimentally and adjusted the volume. He made it back to the couch, one whole guitar cooler, and Sam brought his legs up to sit facing him.

“Now… it’s been a minute since I last played,” said Charlie flexing his fingers awkwardly over the strings.

“And you were _so_ impressing me with your confidence.”

Charlie strummed a chord, “And you _will_ be impressed. Now, what do you want me to play?”

“Oh, _I_ get to choose?”

“Well of course. It’s more _debonair_ that way.”

“Alright,” Sam pursed his lips and gave it a good think, “Uh… play something by _The Smiths_.”

Charlie barked, _“The Smiths??”_

“You said I could pick!”

“No, no, that’s fine. You’re just… you didn’t seem like the _type_ is all,” Charlie took a moment to adjust his fingers, “But I aim to impress, and I do know _one_.”

He strummed a few sour chords, his lips pressed into a hard line as he tried to recall the muscle memory. He picked up the pace and his strumming shifted into a familiar tune.

“Holy shit this is, like, their _best_ song,” Sam laughed. He put down his cigarette to drum along on the back of the sofa.

Charlie mumbled along very flatly with his guitar, “I absolutely don’t remember the words,” he piped up.

“It’s uh, _driving in your car--_ ” Sam sang off-key in a low voice, _“I never, never want to go home.”_

Charlie smiled at him from over his guitar.

_“Because I haven’t got one -- anymore.”_

Somehow, they managed to get through most of the song, with Charlie’s off-tempo strumming and Sam’s terrible singing. Charlie ended with a little flourish and then erupted into laughter, “I think you got maybe… twenty percent of the notes right. Maybe ten, I’m being generous.”

“Hey, _I’m_ not the musician here,” Sam laughed, “That was… really good though. God, I always wanted to play the guitar.”

“Why didn’t you learn?”

“Never had the chance,” he shook his head, remembering being foisted onto the recorder in middle school, “There was this guy though… God, I was fourteen, I think? And I dunno, I was _obsessed_ with him. He said he’d teach me and then like, a week later, he was in prison.”

Charlie laughed so hard he shook the sofa, “You know,” he said, calming down, “You know who isn’t in prison, though?”

“Who?”

_“Me.”_

“Oh yeah?”

Charlie lifted the guitar off his lap and placed it in Sam’s hands.

“Oh, what? No. No, no, no--”

“Come on, it’s _really_ easy--” Charlie scooched up next to him and helped adjust Sam’s hands into the right position, “I can just show you a C chord.”

Sam felt nervous suddenly as Charlie guided his hand up the frets. _Here, here and here. Tilt you hand a bit more. Move your thumb back. Now use your other hand and--_

Awkward, buzzing, but definitely a chord. Sam smiled, his head light with a giddiness that felt foreign to him.

“You make me feel like a teenager,” he said, breathless.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah… it is.”

and Charlie’s lips were on his.

As quickly as it had happened, Charlie was pulling back, “I am. so fucking sorry.”

Sam’s breath shook as he inhaled, “For what?”

It was like that was all the confirmation they had needed. Sam slid his hand around the back of Charlie’s neck and kissed him again. Charlie’s hands were on his shoulders and then sliding down his back, pulling him closer.

_“Fuck,”_ he whispered, breaking them apart again and trying to move the guitar off Sam’s lap and onto the ground in quick jerky motions, “Shit, okay.”

Sam laughed as they kissed again, pressed flush up against each other. His laughter turned to short, quiet gasps as Charlie kissed his cheek, his jaw and then down his neck. He felt him nip gently right above his collar and he jammed his hands under his shirt trying to pull off the offending fabric as quickly as possible. Charlie helped guide it over his head and off his bad arm.

He laid back on the sofa and guided Charlie down with him, kissing him, shivering as his calloused hands moved delicately across his chest -- far more gentle than he’d expected from a man like Charlie. He slid his own hands down Charlie’s back and laughed as he stopped to grip his ass. Charlie made a little noise in the back of his throat that _wasn’t_ laughter, and he tilted his hips forward against Sam’s, and he felt--

“We can stop if you want,” Charlie said, catching his breath, resting his forehead against Sam’s.

Sam slid his hand down the front of Charlie’s jeans and felt him through the denim, _“Now why would we do that?”_

Their lips were crashing together again. He felt his head swimming in heat as Charlie kissed him with the fervour of a man half his age -- and suddenly he was being hoisted up and off the couch, supported by the strain of Charlie’s arms,

_“Holy Shit,”_ he gasped, almost laughing.

“Is this alright?” Charlie asked, casually moving them towards the bed as if completely unencumbered.

“Yeah, I just -- I have _never_ been picked up before.”

“Well, it’s about time someone started treating you right,” Charlie laughed, setting him down on the mattress, and then removing his own shirt. He pressed a quick kiss to Sam’s lips and then resumed his descent down his chest. He followed the trail of hair down his navel, to his hip bones -- Sam wasn’t so far gone as to miss the way he gingerly avoided his gunshot scars -- and placed a longing kiss just above the waistband of his pants. He felt his hands move to unbutton his jeans and--

and then he stopped.

“Charlie?”

Charlie had his head pressed to the bed beside Sam’s hips, his hands still affixed to his jean zipper, “I, uh… I haven’t got any condoms.”

Sam closed his eyes and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, “Oh.”

Charlie pushed himself back up, “I’m sorry, it’s just been… I dunno, _a while_ since I last… I mean, we don’t have to if… if you want, we can just--”

“No. I do want. Charlie, I cannot tell you how much I _do_ fucking want right now.”

Charlie nodded, “Um… well… the corner shop is still open--”

“That works.”

Suddenly Charlie was scrambling to find his discarded shirt. He almost put it on backwards at first. Sam propped himself up on his elbows to watch.

“I’ll uh… freshen up while you’re gone.”

Charlie was stumbling to get his shoes on, almost halfway across the apartment, “Ten minutes, ten minutes _tops_.”

“Okay,” Sam lied back down again, “And Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”


	7. Have Your Cake

It was a dreamless night. Nothing but deep, drifting sleep coaxed out by the oxytocin he hadn’t known he’d been starving for. Sam awoke to the late afternoon sun filtering in through half drawn curtains. Charlie stirred beside him. He pulled his arm back from around Sam’s waist to scratch his chin, “What time is it?”

Sam felt around the nightstand for his phone.

“Three fifteen.”

Charlie grunted as he rolled over, pulling the blanket with him, “I don’t want to get up.”

“Well, if you’re gonna hog the covers--” Sam shifted around and slung his legs over the side of the bed, “...where are my pants?”

“Kitchen.”

With no small effort he hoisted himself upright and shuffled across the room, wary not to flash the neighbours through the window. He picked up his boxers between the dining table and the kitchen island and pulled them on before rummaging through the cabinets.

“What are you looking for?”

“Coffee.”

“Bottom shelf, to the left of the oven.”

Sam put the kettle on to boil. It was another minute or so before Charlie was upright and pulling on a pair of sweats from his dresser. He joined Sam in the kitchen and pulled him close to press a kiss to his temple. It was a little touchier than Sam usually cared for the morning after, but his primary concern right now was caffeine.

“I’m going to shower, d’you want to join me?” Charlie asked.

“No, go ahead. I’m gonna have my coffee and smoke first.”

Charlie nodded. From the kitchen they had a good vantage point of the entire flat, which was… a terrible mess.

“What time is Chloe supposed to get here?”

“Around five.”

Sam sighed, “I guess we should clean up.”

Charlie pursed his lips and nodded, “Yeah… I’ll take the sheets down to the laundry after I shower. You might want to… wipe down the island…”

He pushed one more kiss to Sam’s cheek and made his way to the bathroom.

♢

“What are you making?” Sam asked as he battled with pulling the fitted sheet over the corners of the mattress.

“Kibbeh.”

For the past month and a half, they’d been getting by on MREs, takeout and instant meals -- maybe a night or two of spaghetti -- so home cooking was an interesting change of pace.

“It smells good.”

He laid the comforter over the bed and threw the pillows onto the far end. It looked mostly right. Truthfully, he hadn’t made a bed since prison. There was a knock at the door.

“Could you get that? I’ve got meat hands,” said Charlie, squelching away in a large metal bowl.

Sam crossed over to the front door to let Chloe in. Chloe and--

“Nadine?”

“Hello,” she said very flatly, her expression tight.

“Hello, handsome,” said Chloe, intercepting the tension with a well-placed hug around Sam’s shoulders, “Happy birthday.”

“Excuse me?”

He peered over at Nadine from Chloe’s embrace. She looked deceptively small in her civvies. He noted the cartoon otter printed on her shirt. She slipped past the two of them to greet Charlie.

Chloe released Sam and grasped his shoulders, “Charlie said your birthday’s next week, so--” she raised a grocery bag to show off, “We got you carrot cake. Nate said that’s what you liked; no accounting for taste, I suppose.”

Sam pointed an accusatory finger at Chloe and then back at Charlie, “Why is _Nadine_ here, and why do you know when my birthday is?”

“Because you told me when you were slightly incapacitated,” answered Charlie, accepting a friendly pat on the shoulder from Nadine. She looked pointedly back at Sam, “And you cut my holiday short.”

Sam made an insulted little noise to which Chloe rammed a finger into his ribcage in response, “She’s just giving you a hard time. We were wrapping up this week anyway.”

“Is she coming with us? I’m not changing my cut again.”

Chloe pouted and pinched his chin, “I thought you two were playing nice now.”

“I-- Charlie!”

He shook his head and offered no comment, still busy working the mince.

_“No_ , I’m not joining you three,” said Nadine, “I’m going to visit my cousin in Ealing tomorrow.”

“So why are you here _today?”_

She shrugged and lifted a six-pack out of a paper bag and onto the counter, “I wanted cake.”

Sam looked back at Chloe and frowned. She offered a disarming grin, “Come on, I’ve got a few surprises for you.” She pushed him over to the kitchen island where Nadine had started shaping the meat into little balls with Charlie. Chloe set her duffel on the ground and placed the grocery bag on the counter.

She pulled out the cake -- a lumpy circle in a partially crushed Waitrose box -- and then pulled out a little party hat to strap to Sam’s head, “I forgot the candles, but I got the _really_ important stuff -- are you ready for this?”

Before he could protest, she revealed a paper noise maker and blew it into his face with a little _fweeeee_.

Sam frowned.

“If any of you start singing ‘Happy Birthday’ I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

Nadine tried to hide her smile, but Charlie cackled from his gut. Sam pulled the party hat off and snapped it onto Charlie’s head while he was defenceless, knuckle deep in minced meat.

“There. Now no one will be able to tell that you’re bald.”

♢

“--and then Charlie headbutts him so hard, he gets this... _laceration_ across his forehead and it’s just _spurting_ blood -- and this is Charlie bleeding, not Qing-Hui -- and then Harry drags him back to the van before they get completely busted, and I think, Christ!! He’s about to die--”

“Is that where you got that scar from?”

“What? This one? No, this one’s from rugby.”

“Would you two stop interrupting -- so I think, this is it, my first museum job and Charlie’s going to _die_ in the backseat--”

Chloe almost spills her beer as she recounts the story. She and Charlie had shacked up on the couch, her legs slung over his lap with his palms resting on her knees. Nadine was cross-legged in the recliner, listening intently. Sam had dragged over a fold out chair to face everyone and was leaned back with his legs propped up on the coffee table.

They were mostly done eating. Discarded plates and smears of yogurt and mince. Nadine kept reaching for the carrot sticks and hummus. Sam was working on his third beer and was contemplating the potential ramifications of breaking out the scotch.

Every now and then he’d steal a glance. At Nadine. At Chloe. At the way Nadine looked at Chloe. It reminded him of the very, very brief period of time that it was just him and Chloe working on the Tusk of Ganesh. On the train outside Tamil Nadu. How she pressed up against his body in the back of the train car as she discreetly slipped a hand into his pants. He’d looked into her eyes and for a moment, thought of Elena -- thought, maybe this is what it was like to be in love like that. Maybe Chloe could be the one, running away with him -- finding adventure. And then he came, and the thought was gone faster than she could tuck him back into his pants. From the way she and Nadine looked at each other now, though, he was grateful that hope had been squashed quickly.

Nadine laughed, a warm, authentic chuckle that lit up her whole face. He realized that Chloe and Charlie were laughing too, so he piped up and forced out a laugh of his own to hide the fact that he hadn’t heard the last half of the story.

“I _told_ you Flynn was a wanker,” said Charlie.

“And I told _you_ that Sam’s head was full of rocks, and yet here you are,” Chloe raised her beer in his direction.

He raised his own beer in response, “Rocks and, hey I might have a copy of _Playboy_ or something lying around in there.”

Chloe sneered and then laughed, “Hey -- I want some cake. Charlie, let me up.”

He lifted his hands off her lap, and she climbed over the back of the couch to retrieve their party supplies. She placed the cake on the coffee table. Nadine asked for a party hat and Chloe handed her a purple one.

“Now, like I said, I don’t have any candles,” she snapped a pink hat onto her own head, “But if you hand me your pack, we can stick some cigarettes on top and it’ll be a _themed_ cake.”

“That’s disgusting,” laughed Nadine.

“Hey, I am _not_ wasting my cigarettes on a cake that can’t even _appreciate_ them.”

“I think I’ve got some tea lights,” said Charlie, getting up to look around in the TV console. He pulled out a bag of the tiny candles and passed them to Chloe.

“Alright love, how old are you turning -- sixty?”

“Har har.”

He didn’t want to think about turning forty-five.

“I’ll just put one in the middle then.”

What a spectacle. A half-squashed grocery store cake with a little tea light on top, slightly off-centre. His first birthday cake in seventeen years.

“Well go on, then,” said Charlie.

“Huh?”

“You said no singing, so blow out your candle. I want a slice.”

“I don’t know what to wish for.”

“Ooh, ooh,” Chloe waved her hand, “Wish for… a shit ton of Magic Crystals.”

“Or some better beer,” Nadine said, swirling a bottle around in her hand.

He smiled and blew out his candle to a small round of applause and Chloe going _fwee-fwee-fwee_ on her noise maker again.

They divvied up the cake and ate while listening to Charlie’s story about the year he taught boxing in Monaco. Nadine asked to see his form and then pointed out about seven different ways he could be incapacitated in a fight. Chloe took a shot of tequila. Suddenly she was pretending to box Charlie, and he was faking his own dramatic death. Then out came an ancient box of Trivial Pursuit. Chloe and Charlie set up the pieces.

“If it’s all the same to you guys,” said Sam, peeling himself out of his chair, “I’m gonna take a smoke break. Go ahead and start without me.”

♢

The air outside was just cold enough to take the edge off. Sam leaned over on the guard rail and watched the late-night stragglers pass below him. Company was nice, but… difficult, sometimes. Sometimes it reminded him of being a kid before he went on the run. Sometimes it reminded him of getting too rowdy in the prison mess hall and taking a baton to the shoulder blades as a “pipe down” warning. He wondered what his friends were up to. Santiago. Mau. Flaco. He was glad he was out, but he wished he’d gotten to say goodbye.

He spared a moment to think of Blas. Wondered what life was like after they transferred him to minimum security. If they let him see his wife there.

Behind him the window creaked as it was lifted up and Nadine slipped out over the ledge.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said.

“Just my peace and quiet,” said Sam, “You need something?”

She pointed at his cigarette, “Can I bum one from you?”

He gave her a skeptical look, “I thought you said they were disgusting.”

“I said putting them in a cake would be disgusting. Can I have one or not?”

Sam frowned. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the pack to offer her one. She put it between her lips, and he helped her light it up.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Just socially.”

“Glad my company qualifies.”

They stood side by side, looking out at the street below, smoking. He noticed she had a little hairpin with a star on it. Somehow that tiny detail of character twisted a knot of guilt into his stomach.

“So, no trivial pursuit for you?” he said after a moment of silence.

“They’re too busy arguing,” she gestured back through the window. Inside he could see Charlie slapping his hand on an open book as Chloe shook her head furiously, offering her phone in return, “Thought I’d take a breather before they started tearing off limbs.”

Sam exhaled a small laugh.

“Uh, so…are you and Chloe…”

“Ja. We are.”

Curt as usual. She crossed her arms in an imposing manner despite being a full head shorter than him. He scratched the back of his neck, “That’s… cool. I’m happy for you two.”

She nodded and took a puff of her cigarette.

Sam wasn’t sure if he was supposed to continue the conversation. Somewhere in the distance an ambulance wailed by.

“I didn't know you and Charlie had met before.”

Nadine spared him a glance, “Ja, Chloe introduced us the last time we were in London. We went to see a football match together.”

She snubbed out her cigarette on the bottom of her shoe.

“Hey, you only smoked like half of that--”

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding up the squashed butt, “Do you want it back?”

“Ugh, forget it.”

She looked like she was ready to go back inside. He felt the knot in his stomach twist again.

“Wait, before you head back--” Sam grasped meekly at the air over her arm. She stopped and looked at him expectantly.

“Does Charlie know… I mean, did you tell him about… you and me… you know, how…”

“How we tried to kill each other?”

“I might've used softer terms.”

Nadine laughed, “I mentioned that you and your brother put me out of business. Outside of that, not much reason to talk about you.”

“Gee, thanks”

“What? It was a social visit,” she shrugged, “Most of the conversation was about football. I don't know what Chloe's said to him, though. She's always texting him.”

Sam peered over her shoulder at the two still arguing inside, “Yeah, they're pretty close.”

“Are you worried about something?”

Was he?

“Guess I'm still trying to figure out what he thinks of me.”

“Then why don't you just ask him?”

Sam barked out a bitter laugh, “Why would he _tell_ me?”

“Because generally when you ask someone a question, they give you an answer. Not everyone defaults to lying.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what I said. You and Chloe are both terrible at being honest,” she turned to give him her full attention, “You can’t deny it. I saw you lie to your own brother.”

He flicked the ash from his cigarette in a pointed motion, “You don't know _shit_ about that situation.”

“I know that you were willing to kill me to protect your lie.”

"I--," suddenly he felt caught between the crashing waves of an ocean of rage and guilt.

"I'm sorry,” he said, quietly, “I know I've said it before. But I am.”

Nadine nodded. She was gripping her arm with tense fingers and her eyebrows knitted into a pensive expression.

“Rafe really had a way with bringing out the worst in people,” she said.

“Yeah,” Sam cast his eyes downwards, “He did.”

A weight laid itself at their feet.

“The two of you…” Nadine began, “I never really understood how much he prioritized you. He had more wealth and resources than God himself, I don't know why he thought he needed you, or needed to compete with you.”

“I wish I knew,” Sam laughed flatly, “I wish he'd have just fucked off.”

“Probably would have ended better for him that way.”

Sam raised his cigarette in contempt and a toast, “Cheers to that.”

Nadine rested her hand on the windowsill. She looked back into the warmth of the apartment. Chloe and Charlie rapid firing off question cards at each other, the board game pieces long forgotten. She looked back at Sam. The stone-cold lines of his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

She looked like she wanted to extend a hand. Instead, she gripped her arms against her chest protectively.

“That you got caught up with Rafe. For me it was just business,” her face softened, just slightly, “I don’t know what the nature of your relationship was, but I know he was… incapable of letting people walk away. So, for whatever he did, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

♢

He stayed out on the fire escape until Chloe and Charlie could quiz each other no more, and Nadine had to head back to the hotel for the night. He watched Chloe kiss her goodbye down on the street before she left in a yellow taxicab.

She was asleep now, Chloe. Rolled up in her own blanket on the bed next to Charlie. Sam was back on his couch, not sure if his head was spinning from too many drinks or too much excitement. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

♢

The bed was empty when he woke up. Starchy white sheets and a lonely pillow next to him. He could hear the ocean outside.

Sam rolled out of bed and picked up his robe from off the floor. He tied the belt around his waist and stepped out onto the balcony. He hadn’t thought to check the time, but in a place like this, did it even matter? Nothing but blue skies, white sands and gentle surf. The sun felt warm on his face.

He found his ashtray emptied and clean on the patio table, with a new pack of cigarettes placed diagonally across it in an artistic touch. He sat down to smoke, the taste of tobacco and sea breeze in his lungs. With perfect timing, as usual, Yesenia stepped out onto the balcony -- her apron precision pressed.

“Good morning, Mr. Drake.”

“Morning,” he chimed.

“What will you be having for breakfast today?”

He took a quick drag of his cigarette and puffed it out in the direction of the sea before turning his smile back to her, _“Sorpréndeme.”_

She smiled and gave him a pleased little nod before walking back through the sliding glass door. He watched her curly hair bounce in its ponytail as she walked away. She had such a cute way about her. He could tell she thought his shitty Spanish was an absolute novelty, but he was fine with that as long as it lit up those pretty eyes of hers.

Idly, he wondered if a little _Ménage à Trois_ would be completely out of the question before the week was up.

He’d barely finished his cigarette by the time she returned with a mimosa and the promise of eggs florentine. It wasn’t his usual inclination to let a fling last this long, but bottomless mimosas at an oceanfront bungalow was such a sweet, sweet perk, and didn’t he deserve a little indulgence?

He heard the door slide open again, but this time Rafe stepped out onto the balcony, already dressed. He looked like he’d been out for the day. Yesenia ducked her head instinctively and made herself scarce.

“Sleep late again?” he asked.

“Maybe you just get up too early,” answered Sam.

Rafe smiled and tilted his head, almost birdish in appearance, “This isn’t just a pleasure trip, Samuel. No matter how many of those you drink.”

Sam frowned, feigning hurt, “Are you trying to tell me I’m not fun to have around?”

“I thought I booked you for more than just fun,” Rafe set down a manilla envelope, “I just spoke to Marroquín. I’ve got our papers and a dossier for a warden named _Vargas_ right here.”

Of course, back to business like he hadn’t been a quaking mess beneath Sam’s arms all night. He got up to stand behind Rafe as he pulled out their documents. He slid his arms around his waist and rested his chin on the smaller man’s shoulder.

“So, do we just waltz right in through the front gate?” he asked, pressing a kiss to Rafe’s neck.

“We’ll go through processing with the other new cons. Vargas will personally oversee our medical and psych evals so that we don’t get separated.”

Sam drew circles onto Rafe’s hip with his thumb, “And what are we being convicted for?”

“Grand theft auto.”

“Imagine you,” Sam laughed, moving to work open Rafe’s belt, “needing to steal a car.”

Rafe gripped his wrist and turned to face him, pushing his hand back to his chest, “I’d be very disappointed if you couldn’t keep our story straight.”

He really _should_ reel it in. Their week in paradise was almost up and things could get messy once they met up with Nathan in Río Hato and it was back to getting their hands dirty. But they’d been chasing this treasure for so long and everything was so perfectly planned out now -- what was one more night of fun?

“Hey, hey, I can be _good,”_ said Sam, coaxing Rafe’s chin upwards so that he could kiss him on the lips, _“when it’s required of me.”_

♢

He woke up feeling cold. He reached for his phone. Almost five in the morning. They needed to leave by seven.

He texted Nathan.

_“Thanks for the carrot cake.”_


	8. And Eat It

A fourteen hour flight with one layover in Singapore and Chloe had booked economy. Not even economy plus.

It had been a pretty quiet, sluggish morning. Packing up last minute toiletries, skipping breakfast and filing into a cab for the airport. Sam got an Egg McMuffin (with cheese) when they got there, and Chloe and Charlie split a bagel with lox.

And now they were squished together like a can of sardines.

Chloe had the window, Sam was in the middle and Charlie took the aisle seat. The plane rumbled forward as they taxied, and Charlie bounced his leg anxiously enough that the woman in the seat in front had to ask him to stop. With as much as he travelled, it was amazing how tense flying still made him. As soon as they reached cruising altitude and the seatbelt light turned off with a pleasant _ding_ he was undoing his buckle and grabbing at his bags from under the seat.

“And that’s my cue,” Charlie announced, “There’s an empty row of seats in the back that’s got my name on it.”

“Have a good sleep,” Chloe called after him as he made his way down the aisle. He gave her a wordless thumbs-up in response.

Sam pushed the armrest up to shift into the aisle seat. He had barely opened the movies tab on the little seat-back TV before Chloe spoke up with a casual interest.

“So, how long have you and Charlie been screwing?”

Sam almost choked on his own spit.

“What?”

Chloe didn’t even look up from her inflight magazine, “Left a condom wrapper on the nightstand. Rookie mistake.”

Sam tried to replay yesterday afternoon’s sequence of events in his head. Got up. Made coffee. Tidied the kitchen. Made the bed. Did not look at the nightstand.

She was peeping at him from behind her magazine now.

“I…” his brain was pulling up blanks, “It was just once.”

Chloe absolutely chuckled, pressing the booklet up against her face, “Is that right?”

“Yeah, it was -- it… well, it was a few times, but it was just _one_ _night.”_

She slipped the magazine back in its pocket and leaned over on her tray table, her chin in her hand and her eyes lit up with a familiar playfulness, “Hmm… The _mysterious_ Sam Drake and the _valiant_ Charlie Cutter… what an interesting pair.”

“Would you cut that out,” he said, yanking at her wrist so that she lost her balance. She moved to jab him in the side with her finger and he slapped her hand away again. Her laughter was bubbling all over her face and it made Sam feel a strange tenseness in the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pouting, “I just think it’s very _cute.”_

“Your opinion is noted,” he said, pointedly turning his attention back to his personal TV. He opened up the _Thriller_ section.

Chloe rapped her fingers on the tray table.

“I don’t know about your personal exploits,” she said, leaning slightly in his direction, “But it’s been a while since Charlie’s mentioned anyone special.”

“This isn’t special.”

Chloe didn’t respond. Sam spared her a brief glance. She was pouting again.

“Look,” he said, “Charlie is… nice. We’re friends, okay?”

“I think Friends with Benefits is the correct term.”

“Okay, _Friends with Benefits,_ can we drop this now?”

“Well, I’m _sorry_ for badgering you,” Chloe chided, using her foot to slide her backpack out from underneath the seat, “Charlie’s my best mate so I can’t help but being a _little_ invested.”

“If you’re so invested then why don’t you talk to _him_ about it?” Sam frowned, “Actually, don’t do that either. In fact, just don’t talk about it at all.”

He realized he’d been looping through the same fifteen movies over and over again. He hit the back button and opened the Drama section instead. Chloe pulled out a little booklet from her bag and started working on a game of sudoku.

“You know, Charlie had a bit of a thing for your brother when he first met him.”

Sam slammed the back button again, _“Jesus,_ Chloe -- don’t tell me that.”

She laughed, not looking up from her numbers and squares, “What? It’s not like Nate ever picked up on it. He’s so dense with that kind of thing.”

“And thank God for that.”

He didn’t want to think about Charlie and… Nathan. For a split second he wondered if that made him a consolation prize -- and then he banished the thought completely.

“At least he got wise with Elena,” said Chloe, “took him long enough.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, she’s… she’s really good for him.”

Nothing good in the Documentary section either. Not in the mood for Comedy. Never in the mood for Romance. He tried the Horror section.

“Hey, Chloe?”

“Yes, love?”

He thought of the smiling brunette in her winter coat, arms wrapped tightly around Charlie, young and in love by the sea.

“Do you know what happened with Charlie and his ex?”

Chloe marked a tidy nine onto her puzzle, “Which one?”

“His fiancée.”

“Cece?”

“I guess. I don’t know her name.”

She put down her book and folded her hands neatly over it, “Yeah, that was her name -- Cecilia. I’m surprised he mentioned her.”

Sam shrugged, “I don’t know, it just kind of came up. He told me about Boiled-Egg Oskar too, so you’re not off the hook either.”

Chloe scoffed, “For your information his dick was absolutely massive.”

“Happy for you, but -- Cecilia? She didn’t… she’s not--”

“Dead? God, no. Last I heard she was living in Paris. I think she married some other bloke.”

“So…” Sam trailed off with an expectant raise of his eyebrows.

Chloe bit her lip and cast her eyes to the side, like she was trying to recall something, “Um… I think it was just a difference in lifestyle, honestly. She was a dancer with the Royal Ballet. They met when he was in school and then he started working -- you know, like, _our kind of working_ \-- and it didn’t mesh well. She dumped him; I know that for sure.”

“So, what, she was mad he couldn’t come to her recitals or something?”

“I mean the Royal Ballet is a _very_ respected company. I think she was on her way to becoming a soloist, so… maybe she was worried about what marrying a _criminal_ would do to her reputation.”

“Charlie’s not -- I mean, _he is,_ but,” Sam felt a weary little pang of anger in his chest, “He could’ve kept it on the downlow.”

Chloe nested her chin in her hands again, “I suppose. I don’t really know all the details, though -- it’s not like it’s something he talks about much. She really broke his heart, you know.”

“How long ago did it happen?”

“Oh, _ages_ ago -- before I met him, even. Like I said, he was in grad school. The only reason I know about it is because we got properly pissed this one time in Barcelona and he was _beside_ himself sobbing about her.”

Sam tried to picture Charlie draped over Chloe’s shoulder at a Spanish bar, crying over a fucking ballerina. It nettled him.

Chloe poked him with her pen, “But I think it’s sweet that you care to ask.”

Sam grabbed her pen and rolled it down the aisle.

“Hey--,”

“I told you to cut it out.”

Chloe frowned. She got up to squeeze out of their row, “Alright, alright -- you’re no fun, you know that?”

He plugged in his headphones and pressed play on _Jaws._

♢

Sam was always shit at sleeping on planes. Too much ambient noise, maybe. Chloe had taken a pill around the three hour mark and was fast asleep against the window with her mouth wide open. Charlie didn’t return, but Sam did pass by him on the way to the bathroom. He was knocked out too, wrapped in a little blanket cocoon, stretched across the row.

So he passed the time on his own. It was funny; long flights didn’t feel much different from being in his cell back in Panama. They might not have had movies on-demand in prison, but at least he could stretch out his legs -- so he’d give that point to jail.

He managed about an hour of shut-eye after they transferred flights in Singapore. Chloe and Charlie were well awake by then and chattered away as he snored. From the airport in Siem Reap, it was another forty minute cab ride to their hotel. Charlie had booked one just outside the city that was comfortably modern. It was only 10 a.m. local time when they finished checking in.

Two rooms, each its own little villa nestled beautifully into the landscaping of the hotel grounds. Chloe ran off as soon as she got her key, eager to explore the _amenities._ Charlie helped Sam carry the rest of the luggage to their own room.

“This is nice,” Sam chimed, spotting the complimentary refreshments tray on the desk, “Oh, it’s a double.”

He threw his bag down on the bed closer to the door, “This one’s mine.”

Charlie seemed like he had something to say about that, but he shook it off and set his things down on the opposite bed. He looked over at Sam, who was busy kicking off his shoes and stretching out over the covers.

“Hey.”

Sam rolled over to face him, “Hey.”

Charlie looked a little apprehensive. He took a seat next to Sam on his bed.

“Hey,” he said again, very quietly.

Sam pushed himself upright, so that they were eye-to-eye, “What’s up?”

Charlie seemed to be thinking about something very deliberately. He took a shaky breath and kissed Sam on the cheek.

“Sorry,” he pulled away apologetically when Sam didn’t move, “I know it’s only been two days, but I feel like I haven’t gotten to talk to you at all.”

Sam shrugged, “It’s been a busy couple of days.”

“I know, I just… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’m glad we’ve got some time alone.”

Sam didn’t really have anything to say to that. He wasn’t uncomfortable. He’d done this plenty of times before and he’d never felt the need to _talk about it_ afterwards -- in fact it was something he tried to avoid.

But maybe Charlie was insecure. If he was worried about whether or not it had been good -- it had been _very_ good -- that was something he could manage. He placed his hand on the back of Charlie’s neck and kissed him very gently on the corner of his mouth. Charlie pulled him closer and kissed him on the lips with a passion that left him feeling dizzy. When they broke apart, he placed another kiss on Sam’s forehead, his breath gentle across his skin, _“I missed talking to you.”_

_What the fuck?_

It sent pins and needles through his brain. He screwed his eyes shut and buried his nose in the crook of Charlie’s neck, trying to will away the sensation.

“Are you alright?” Charlie asked cautiously.

Sam inhaled sharply through his nose, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry if I -- I mean, I shouldn’t--,”

“No, it’s okay,” he pushed himself up and kissed Charlie on the mouth again, moving his hands down to work open his pants, “But I can think of something more fun to do with my mouth than talking.”

♢

“God, you two took forever,” Chloe whined over her shoulder as her partners entered the restaurant. It was a little place opened up to the street and Chloe sat atop a red stool, tapping her fingers on the plastic dining table. Sam and Charlie sat down across from her.

“Sorry, I wanted to shower,” said Charlie, looking incredibly flushed, “I hate that _recycled air_ feeling after a flight.”

He fiddled with the collar of his fitted grey t-shirt, “I’m starting to wish I’d waited though; this humidity is bloody awful.”

“Just shower again later or do what Sam does and disregard hygiene completely.”

“Hey,” Sam quipped, “I _shower.”_

She made an ‘eh’ motion with her hand. A waiter stopped by to deliver their drinks, three icy cups of lemonade. Chloe spoke to him in Khmer.

“Hey, can I get a coffee?” Sam asked.

She peered over at him and then let the waiter know. He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Alright, boys,” Chloe announced with a little slap to the table, “Let’s discuss our game plan, shall we?”

Charlie pulled out his trusty folio and handed Chloe a stack of papers from inside it. She thumbed through quickly and then laid out a few important pages. Meredith’s journal entries, a printed photo of the stone map from the island and the cargo manifests transferring the meteorite to Lavaud’s estate.

“Where do we start?”

Sam pulled out the newspaper article on Lavaud’s murder. It bore a picture of an imposing colonial bungalow, “So here’s where we think the stash is. Charlie says the vault’s never been opened, so we’ll need to check out how much of a problem it’s gonna pose. See what kind of gear we’ll need -- excavation tools, lock picks, maybe C4.”

Chloe examined the page, “Seems easy enough. But we should take a look at those earrings on display in the Museum as well. See if they look genuine _Thinking Crystal.”_

“I was thinking you could take care of that,” said Charlie, fishing out a glass vial containing their sample of meteorite and sliding it over to Chloe, “Might ask some questions on the _guided tour.”_

She shook the vial and turned it around in her fingers, “Certainly looks like it from the pictures, but I’ll check it out. This was all that was left in the cave?”

“That and two other stones embedded in the map, here, look at this,” Charlie pointed out the markings on the stone slab.

Chloe tapped her lip thoughtfully, “Interesting that she went through the trouble of carving this up. I wonder if she meant for someone to find it, or if it was purely devotional.”

“What do you mean devotional?” asked Sam.

“Right here. _His Gate Shall Open._ Very ominous statement to just casually paint onto your arts and crafts. I wonder whose gate she’s talking about.”

Sam looked at Charlie, a wordless request.

“Well -- Sam and I have a theory,” he said, “She found the first crystal in Okunevo, in Siberia, where there’s some local mythology that the four lakes there were created by a meteor strike -- those would be the chalices mentioned in her journal pages -- and there’s supposed to be a secret fifth lake that will be… magically revealed. The story is that there's a hidden city at the bottom of the lake that was supposed to house the Thinking Crystal in a temple to Hanuman.”

“Hanuman?” Chloe raised her eyebrows, “As in, Hanuman from _Ramayana?_ The Hindu epic?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, there was this… disciple of Hanuman who trekked out west through the Omsk region, searching for the ‘Heart of Asia’. We can’t be sure but… maybe he found it in the fifth lake. I don’t know what else the gate could be referring to.”

“Okay, hold on. So, we’ve got… three crash sites across Eurasia, chock full of meteorite -- shards of Thinking Crystal, maybe, if we go by the myth -- a crazy geologist that’s been mining it all up, and the gate to a magic Hindu temple at the bottom of a lake.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“If you ask me this makes no sense,” Chloe leaned back in her seat and glanced back and forth between the two of them, “It sounds like she might have been trying to reassemble the Crystal. _His Gate Shall Open._ She’s clearly got a few screws loose judging by the photos of her cave shack, so maybe she thinks if she can put the Crystal back together again and bring it back to Okunevo... it’ll open the gate to the temple. Maybe it’s a paradise or... a connection to heaven -- Hanuman himself is associated with perfect devotion. But if that’s the case -- then why would she sell it off to this Lavaud fellow?”

“Meredith disappeared in 1893 or 1894, right after she made the transfer to Lavaud,” said Charlie, “There’s no record of where she went, or even of her death, but it’s clear she thought the final pieces would be here in Siem Reap. Lavaud was well established in the mining trade in Cambodia at the time, so maybe she reached out to him -- they built the quarry together -- and then…”

“And then he killed her,” finished Sam, “Business partnership turned sour. Maybe Lavaud got greedy -- maybe she wanted to take the Crystal back to Siberia and maybe _he_ wanted to keep it for himself. It can’t be hard to dispose of a body when you’ve got your own personal quarry in your backyard.”

Chloe nodded, “That would explain his wife’s lovely jewellery. I wonder if he made anything else pretty with what they found.”

“I wouldn’t mind scoring myself a nice ring,” Sam laughed, “Maybe a pair of cufflinks.”

“Let’s just hope it’s all still there,” said Charlie.

“Well, it’s not like he had much of a chance to move it. _Mutilated with a garden spade,”_ mumbled Chloe, “What a way to go.”

Charlie started pulling the pages back together again to slip into his folio. He paused, looking at the photo of Meredith’s cave shack, “D’you think… d’you think it’s actually magic or something? Well, not magic but -- I don’t know, something creepy?”

“The spade?”

“No, _Sam._ The fucking Crystal.”

Chloe leaned forward on the table, “Not any more magic than the tree sap in Shambala. What makes you think so?”

“Well, it’s all a bit gruesome, isn’t it? The mutant sheep skulls, Meredith’s mad ramblings, the murder-suicide of the Lavauds. Makes you wonder if the Crystal changed them somehow.”

“Maybe it’s radioactive,” Sam mumbled, taking a sip of his lemonade, “Or maybe that weird humming noise it makes just drove everybody crazy. Including the sheep.”

“It better not be radioactive,” snapped Chloe, “because I am absolutely keeping a pair of earrings.”

“Eh, once we get a buyer it’ll be their problem to deal with.”

Their waiter returned with three bowls of noodles in curry and a glass of iced coffee for Sam. He accepted it with a little disappointment. He hated iced coffee.

Chloe took no notice and plucked a few herbs off a side dish to toss into her bowl, “The Colonial Museum closes at four, so I’ll have to give it a look tomorrow. Tonight, we can work on getting a rental car and some _equipment_ so that you boys can check out the estate while I’m at the exhibit.”

“You two go ahead,” said Sam taking a doleful sip of his coffee, “I barely slept on the flight over, so I plan on knocking out for the rest of the day.”

“That coffee’s not gonna help with that,” said Charlie.

“Yeah, well, neither will your nagging.”


	9. The Estate

_He’s in New Orleans with his wife. He’s moved on._

“Jameson Marine Incorporated, this is Devon speaking.”

“Hey, hi -- I’m, uh… I’m calling for… Nathan. Nathan Drake?”

“Yeah, hold on a second.”

Voices in the background. A door being opened and shut. Two voices.

It wouldn’t be him.

“Hello?”

He hung up.

He looked at the phone in his hand. He wanted to throw it, but it wasn’t his. He bit his knuckle instead. His eyes felt hot and his throat felt scratchy. He stepped out of the cabana and handed the phone back to Joseph who had been busy scooping leaves out of the pool.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, Mr. Drake.”

Sam slid open the panel door to the downstairs entertainment room and stepped into the biting air conditioning. It felt cold in such a sickly and unnatural way. He paced around the couches. He picked up one of the weird metal balls resting in a driftwood bowl on the coffee table. What was this supposed to be? Decoration? He contemplated throwing it through the giant window in the foyer. The one that overlooked the rolling hills of forest -- where he could just see the tips of skyscrapers on the distant horizon. He could hear Rafe walking down the hall.

“What the fuck is this thing?” he asked as soon as he was in earshot.

Rafe looked over at him from the kitchen; clearly he wasn’t expecting Sam to be in this part of the house, “It’s an accent piece.”

Sam tossed it back into the bowl with a dull clang and made his way over to the kitchen counter. Rafe was mixing some electrolyte powder in a metal shaker. His face was tinged pink in stark contrast to his black compression shirt.

“Were you out running? It’s like a hundred degrees out.”

“It’s my cardio day and I don’t skip.”

He downed the contents of his shaker.

“Why are your eyes red?”

“What?” Sam rubbed at his eyes reflexively, “It’s probably the fucking cedar pollen again.”

“Do you need an allergy shot?”

_“Christ,_ no -- I’ll just take a fucking Benadryl.”

“Take a Zyrtec. You’ve already slept enough today.”

Sam felt a wave of anger bubble up and he tried to kill it in his throat. Who fucking cares what allergy pill he took?

“Okay, I’ll take a Zyrtec then.”

Rafe was already walking out of the kitchen, on his way to the shower. It was infuriating when he did this -- just decided he was done with him for the moment and left before Sam was even finished speaking. Sam trailed after him, intent on being listened to.

“Why don’t you let me come running with you next time?”

“You just said the cedar pollen bothers you.”

“Well, that’s what the Zyrtec is for, right?”

For someone with such short legs, Rafe moved with an irritating swiftness. Sam followed him up the stairs at a brisk jog.

“Come on, I haven’t left the house in two weeks now,” he protested.

“I told you this conference would take a while -- it’s not my responsibility to keep you entertained while I'm doing business.”

“I’m not asking for entertainment, I just wanna leave the fucking property once in a blue moon, you know?”

“If you’re bored you can use the media room.”

Maybe he’d do that if Rafe’s movie collection didn’t suck. He couldn’t even stream anything because Rafe had the internet connection throttled the minute he left the property as a ‘precaution’. Sam could barely figure out how to use the touchscreen on the fridge, let alone one of the computers, so really it just felt like adding insult to injury.

“Rafe, I don’t wanna watch TV all day,” he said slipping his fingers into the younger man’s hand and tugging him backwards, “You keep pushing back the next Scotland trip -- and I’m fine with that -- but at least let me go out for something besides work.”

Rafe stopped to look him in the eyes, “And what is it that you want to do, Samuel?”

“I don’t know,” he said, gripping Rafe’s other hand, lacing their fingers together, “Why don’t you take me out to dinner? To that rooftop place you were talking about. Let me be a part of civilization for a night.”

“You wanna get out of here that badly?”

Sam stroked his thumb over the back of his hand, still held tightly, “I want you to spend some time with me, Rafe.”

Even Rafe’s company was better than being alone right now.

He laughed, the corners of his mouth pitched slightly in that amused little smile that meant that Sam had just charmed him, “I could do that.”

He yanked Sam’s head down to kiss him. Sam obliged. Rafe pulled his other hand free to cup around his face, forcing their lips together almost uncomfortably.

_“You want me to wine and dine you?”_ he asked against his mouth.

Sam nodded, unable to free his lips enough to speak.

He could be good when it was required of him.

♢

Charlie wasn’t anything like Rafe. For starters, he was a lot taller and much more tolerable to be around. He was also _alive_ , something that -- much to Sam’s relief -- Rafe would never be again.

So why did he keep waking up with the taste of him on his tongue?

Sam pulled at the crow’s feet at the corner of his eye, studying the lines in his reflection. Maybe he should’ve accepted Rafe’s insistence on Botox. No. He disregarded the thought the way he disregarded the tailored wardrobe, the personalised diet, the regular offer of cocaine. But God, did he look old.

Fifteen years of his life lost to a poor judgement call and a healthy dose of bad luck.

But he was in control of his life again, and it was _nice_ to be back. To pretend he was picking up where he left off -- twenty-nine and feeling fine -- but... he flexed his hand and felt the stiffness, the tender threat of arthritis in his knuckles. His shoulder still ached.

He looked like how he remembered his father. Wasn’t this the age he was when he left for good?

A brief kiss on the cheek jolted him out of his thoughts.

“You’re up early today,” said Charlie as he settled at the sink on the far side of the counter, unzipping his bag of toiletries, “Did you sleep well?”

Sam tried to organize his thoughts.

“Yeah. Chloe gave me one of her pills.”

“That stuff’ll knock you out, guaranteed,” he pulled out his razor and a tube of shaving cream, “You missed out on a good dinner.”

Sam splashed some water on his face. He probably should have showered yesterday but he’d get around to it. He decided to brush his teeth.

“You and Chloe take care of the car?” he asked, squeezing a lump of toothpaste onto the brush.

“Got a jeep,” Charlie worked up the foam on his face, keeping his eyes on his own reflection as he shaved, “We’ll grab some breakfast to-go and pick it up in a bit. Chloe’ll take the bus to the museum, it’s not far from here.”

“Ahyu nna mm me dribe?”

“What?”

Sam spit, “Are you gonna let me drive this time?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re really not letting Victor’s whiplash go, huh?”

“Not a chance.”

Charlie toweled off and reached for his toothbrush.

“What about the equipment?” asked Sam.

Charlie held up a finger asking him to wait while he brushed. Maybe he cared a little more about appearing decent.

“Chloe’s guy will hook us up when we get the car,” he said when he was finished, “Just the standard. Rope, a bit of climbing gear, sidearms and a Geiger counter, per my request.”

“You asked for a Geiger counter?”

Charlie shrugged, “Just in case. Anyway, once we’ve figured out what we’re dealing with, our guy can set us up with excavation tools or explosives. Whatever’s gonna crack that vault.”

Sam leaned on the counter and smiled, recalling their first job together with Victor -- and Charlie’s extremely liberal usage of C4.

“You do love your explosives.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of simple tastes.”

Charlie smiled back at him. Sam was especially fond of the way it made his eyes crinkle.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Charlie’s smile faltered and a glimmer of insecurity worked its way across his face, “Do you want to talk?”

Sam felt pins and needles again. A tightness in his chest that was definitely not from fondness.

“We’re talking right now, aren’t we?”

“Not about the vault.”

Maybe it was irritation? Anger?

“What else is there to talk about?”

Charlie looked a bit taken aback, “What happened in London, Sam, don’t you--,”

There were three loud knocks on the bedroom door. Chloe’s voice came muffled through the polished wood, “Rise and shine, boys! Voeng’s been calling me for the past twenty minutes and you lads are making a bad impression.”

Whatever Charlie was about to say was lost in the sudden disorientation. Sam took the opportunity to wrap up the chatter. He slapped Charlie on the shoulder twice in a perfunctory motion, “Come on,” he said, “You’re driving, right?”

♢

Voeng was a squarish looking man. Square and very short -- not even reaching Sam’s shoulder. His eyes were shifty and wired with an intensely excitable energy. He spoke in a rapid, jumpy tempo as he explained the contents of the padded metal case he’d brought for them. Kernmantle rope, handheld ascenders, pitons, two Para .45s, Charlie’s Geiger counter and a machete. He set each item out in the trunk of the jeep.

“If you need anything else -- _anything else_ \-- you come to me first, you got it? You let me know if you need those demolition charges. You let me know.”

“Thank you, Voeng,” said Chloe nudging him out of the way, “This is more than enough for the time being.”

“You let me know, Frazer.”

“I _promise_ we will let you know.”

She ushered him away, mumbling something to him in Khmer as Sam and Charlie packed away their gear. Charlie made no comment on Sam’s choice of holster this time -- though maybe it was because he was too busy examining his new Geiger counter.

“Enjoying your new toy?”

Charlie lifted it to his ear, “I thought it would make more noise.”

“There better not be enough radiation out here to set it off,” said Sam.

Chloe returned and tossed a set of keys to Charlie.

“Alright lads, I’ve got a lunch date of sorts before I head off to the museum… call it the unfortunate Voeng Special Discount. Let’s rendezvous at the hotel bar by sundown, yeah?”

She waved them goodbye and pushed Voeng backwards on the seat of his scooter so that she could drive. Charlie and Sam packed up their things and set out in the jeep.

Charlie had on a green and white baseball cap and a new pair of aviators that he’d bought at the airport. It didn’t have quite the same porn-star effect as the knit hat combo on the boat, but Sam did appreciate the fitted white shirt. He made a mental note to keep those thoughts to himself for the time being.

Almost on cue, Charlie glanced over at him, his eyebrows raised just over the top of his sunglasses, “Something wrong?”

“Nope,” he said very quickly, “Eyes on the road, handsome.”

Charlie let out a small laugh, but he kept his eyes forward and said nothing to follow.

The chaos of city streets gave way to rustic dirt roads. Sam felt something like a calmness overtake him as he leaned back against the headrest to watch the dappled light streak by through the tunnel of leaves overhead. The wind rushed over his face in warm, summery gusts. Even with the steady bounce of the unpaved road he felt like he could doze off. It was nice to be in motion, feeling the world roll by.

Then Charlie’s hand was on his shoulder, tapping him awake. He looked around to find himself in a completely new setting. The dirt roads and farmland had been replaced by a steep, muddy incline and invasively green foliage. He could barely see twenty feet through the vegetation to his right.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“S’alright,” Charlie answered, “Get your head on straight soon though, we should be getting close.”

The jeep crested over the hill and as they turned the corner, the dense forest around them surrendered to a vast, open quarry -- its stone walls cutting a rigid gash of steely blue into the landscape. The road bordered the outer edge of it. The base of the quarry, maybe fifty feet down from the access road, was flooded by cloudy turquoise groundwater. There was no way of telling how deep it went.

They followed the road to the southern end of the estate where the stately pillars of an old colonial house rose from the greenery. Charlie pulled up to the front portico and parked.

“Very solemn to see it in real life,” he remarked.

Sam was already out of the car and looking around. The tattered remains of a French flag hung from a post on the balcony -- he was surprised it was even recognisable after over a hundred years of neglect. That same neglect tinted the surely once-white finish of the house a speckled brown. The wooden shutters hung off rotted hinges and the leaves of a papaya tree erupted from a window on the second floor. From outside, it seemed that all that remained of the house was a mere skeleton -- slowly being reclaimed by the jungle. Sam swatted at a mosquito on his neck.

“I can’t believe we brought guns but no bug spray.”

“Come on,” said Charlie, smacking him on the back as he climbed up the steps to the front veranda, “Let’s try the front door.”

The door was massive and carved with an intricate floral design. It looked like a dark hardwood, and it was deceptively heavy -- it took the both of them to nudge it open. The front hall was mostly still intact. Black and white diagonal floor tiles, an imperial staircase that divided at the centre of the room, and a giant fucking hole in the roof. The flight of stairs to the right was completely choked by the roots of a massive strangler fig that creeped up the wall and made its escape through the hole in the ceiling.

Charlie investigated the hallway underneath the stairs as Sam picked through an old sideboard by the entrance.

“There’s a staircase heading down back here,” Charlie called out from across the foyer. He pushed apart a few of the thinner roots with his machete to peer down a passage that branched off to the right.

He gave the wood a good hack, but the root system was too thickly established to clear without power tools. He looked back at Sam and shook his head.

“Well,” said Sam, reaching for a cigarette, “Let’s just take a look around. See if there are any other staircases in menacingly dark hallways… You wanna split up?”

Charlie tapped the machete against the wall, knocking the wood chunks from the blade and nodded half-heartedly.

“Yeah, we can do that,” he said, “I’ll check out the hallway to the left, you check upstairs.”

They went their separate ways.

Sam climbed up the intact flight of stairs. A stone balustrade lined the upstairs landing, and he made his way through the rooms starting at the far left of the main hall.

The first room seemed to be a children’s bedroom judging from the skeletons of furniture left behind. Not much besides a small cot and a rocking chair missing one of its rockers. On the wooden panelling beneath the window, a little scene of horses (or maybe cows) was carved crudely into the grain. It made him wonder how old Lavaud’s children were when they were killed.

He tried to picture two little kids running around this massive estate. If it were him and Nathan they would’ve gotten into endless trouble in the quarry; climbing up and down, cannonballing into the water, making pirate ships… he reminded himself that there probably wasn’t any water in the quarry when these kids were alive. It must’ve been a riot up until their unfortunate end.

He tried to imagine the two little Lavauds running away instead.

There was a linen closet and a bathroom next to the children’s room. Nothing of note in there besides moth eaten fibres and more broken tiles. Towards the centre of the landing there was a locked door that still seemed to hold strong. He gave it a few experimental tugs and decided to come back to it. He ventured into the room to the right of the staircase, climbing over the strangler’s roots to get there.

It looked like a study, with a large desk on the far end and several empty bookshelves lining the walls. Anything of worth in here had probably been sold off when Lavaud’s brother-in-law acquired the estate. The floor buckled towards the centre of the room and Sam stooped down to examine the hole it created. He could see Charlie snooping around in the kitchen right below him. Sam picked up a fragment of wooden floorboard and chucked it at him. It bounced off the rim of his cap. He looked up.

“Wh-- What did you just throw at me?”

Sam shrugged, “Piece of floor. You find anything down there?”

Charlie held up an old key ring and jangled it around, “Hanging on the door next to the servant’s quarters. Nothing else down here, though -- just the dining, kitchen and probably a living room, it’s all empty so it’s hard to tell what’s what.”

“Bring that up here, there’s a door I can’t get into."

Charlie nodded, taking one last sweeping look around the kitchen, "Alright. I'll meet you on the landing."

They regrouped and Charlie came trudging up the staircase, the heavy plod of his boots echoing in the hall. Sam showed him the door by the strangler’s fig and they went through the key ring one by one trying the lock.

“It’s probably the master,” said Sam, leaning against the wall as he watched Charlie fiddle with the lock, “I hope it’s at least more interesting than what’s out here. Didn’t even leave a book behind, or a picture frame.”

“I wonder if his brother-in-law was sentimental… or if he just needed to pawn everything off that badly,” Charlie remarked. He tried a third key, “Bugger.”

“Want me to shoot the lock?”

“With how swollen the woodwork is in here? I think you’d just make it harder to get open.”

“Guess we can’t have things too easy, can we?”

Charlie snorted a quick laugh, “Speaking of which, after all this is done -- I was considering a holiday, maybe. Feel like it’s the least we deserve for all this running around.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If the pay-off’s good, I mean. I was thinking maybe somewhere in the Caribbean?”

“Barbados is pretty nice,” Sam nodded absentmindedly, lighting up another cigarette, “You should take Chloe.”

Charlie paused.

“I could ask her,” he mumbled, trying the next key, “What do you think you’ll do?”

“Honestly?” Sam took a puff of his cigarette, “Probably just head back to New Mexico for a bit. My cactus hasn’t been watered since I left -- and I very recently discovered that you are, in fact, supposed to water them.”

“Wouldn’t want your cactus wilting.”

“Yeah, it was a gift from the lady next door, so I’ve been tryna keep it alive. I don’t know why she wanted to give me one when there’s like a million cactuses outside.”

“Cacti.”

“Okay, _cacti._ Maybe I’ll take my bike up to Santa Fe after that.”

The lock tumbled with the sixth key and Charlie pushed the door open to reveal a small receiving room. There was a door on each wall and a little potted plant that had withered to a crisp.

“You don’t plan on visiting your brother at all?”

Sam crossed over to the door on the far side and started shoving it open with a loud raking noise as it dragged across the tiles, “Probably not.”

“So, you’re just gonna bugger off by yourself, then?”

Charlie and Nathan might have been friends, but it bothered him that he was prying into this. Where he went and what he did was his own fucking business, “Nathan’s doing a lot of filming this month and I don’t want to bother him, alright?”

“I hardly think you’d be bothering him--,”

“He’s busy, Charlie” something sour tugged at his throat, and he added after a pause, "And even if I weren’t bothering him, Elena wouldn’t want me around -- so can we drop it?”

Charlie shook his head, looking irritatingly sympathetic, “You know that’s not true.”

“Yeah, and you know her so intimately, do you?” Sam felt an agitation building in his system again, “‘Cause I don’t know if you forgot about the whole _Alcazar_ thing, but I’m sure _she_ hasn’t, alright?”

“Elena’s said she likes you. She’s _told_ me she likes you.”

Sam frowned. As if he hadn't heard Elena's reassurances himself. People who grew up in nice normal lives with nice normal families always lied about liking their in-laws.

The thought sent the tight feeling in his throat creeping down into his chest. This was supposed to be the fun part of the job -- sneaking around a place no one had seen in years, piecing together the mystery -- he didn’t know why they were talking about his personal relationships instead of the estate or the Crystal or the creepy fucking murder.

“Yeah, well,” he flopped his arms at his side, “Maybe don’t take everybody at their word.”

Charlie was still standing across the receiving room. The tightness was starting to feel like a sickening anger.

“Sam, what’s your middle name?”

_What?_

“What?”

“What’s your middle name.”

It was less of a question this time. Sam shrugged.

“Anthony. What does this have to do with anything?”

Charlie shook his head and crossed the room finally, sliding through the door by Sam, “Just wondering.”

Alright then. Fine. Charlie could be cryptic if that's what he was in the mood for. Sam tossed his cigarette, smoked down to the filter far too quickly, and followed him through.

He was right, at least, about this being the master bedroom. There was a little more furniture left behind in here; a derelict canopy bed, an old boudoir, a chair on its side -- missing two legs. Sam stepped up to a patch of dark stains that crept across the wooden floorboards near the foot of the bed. He wondered if they were left behind by weather and time, or by something more sinister. He thought of the two little children.

“She did it in the kitchen,” said Charlie, “If you were worried about that.”

“Oh,” said Sam. He kicked the floorboards, “She didn’t leave a note or anything, did she?”

“Who? Madame Lavaud?”

Sam shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the stain, “Yeah… Usually when someone offs themselves, they at least say why.”

Charlie took out his notebook. It was a little crinklier now that it had dried out following their previous excursion. He flipped through a few pages, “I don’t think I remember reading anything about that. She dosed the family at the breakfast table one morning and killed them one by one. Drowned herself in the bathtub after that. No notes, no message… just a triangle drawn in blood on the kitchen floor.”

He pictured it in vivid detail.

“That’s awful.”

“It’s not pleasant to think about, no,” Charlie was searching through the boudoir at this point, seated on the little stool, “It feels like there’s bad energy everywhere in this house."

Charlie looked through the drawers quietly. Sam listened to the sound of his shuffling and the creaking of the house’s wooden bones. He wasn’t sure if places had energy, or if it was just people putting feelings where they didn’t belong.

“You think so?” he asked.

“Yeah, it feels… heavy,” Charlie turned a glance to him, “Thick, I guess. You don’t feel anything?”

Sam looked down at the stains again, the way they whispered their story into the wood. It made him think of his Mom. Of the way his house felt when she --

“No. Not really,” he said, boxing away that train of thought.

Charlie laughed dryly, “Of course you don’t.”

Sam’s eyes shot up to meet his.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Charlie took off his sunglasses and wiped the sweat off the bridge of his nose, “Sorry, I’m not trying to rile you up. The humidity’s just getting to me.”

He got up from the boudoir and tucked his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt, “Shall we check the next room?”

He gave Sam’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and went back into the receiving room.

Sam kicked the floorboards again before following him out.

Charlie had gone through the door on the right of the bedroom. Sam glanced at the door to the left. He had a feeling that was the bathroom where Madame Lavaud had ceased to be. All the treasure in the world wouldn’t be enough to make him open that door.

He caught up with Charlie in the opposite room -- a reading room, judging from the bookshelves and the sagged chaise lounge. He was knelt down by a depression in the floor, knocking at the boards. Sunlight filtered in through another hole in the roof, smaller than the one in the main hall -- perhaps just a structural collapse.

“I think,” said Charlie, rapping his knuckles on the floorboards, “This is right above that blocked off hallway.”

Sam wiped the sweat off his forehead, mentally reassessing his tone of voice before speaking, “You wanna go through the floor?”

“Structure’s quite weak in this spot. I think we could break through.”

“Why don’t you just try jumping on it?”

Charlie shot him an irritated look, “I don’t really fancy breaking my leg again.”

Sam wiped the sweat onto his jeans, “Okay, maybe… let’s knock over one of these shelves. They must weigh a ton.”

Charlie nodded and bounded back onto his feet. They picked the shelf nearest to the chaise lounge and pulled it forward from the wall.

"You sure you're alright to move this?" Charlie asked as they readjusted themselves.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Charlie looked doubtful but he didn't persist. They started pushing it towards the weak spot and Sam’s shoulder strained painfully. God, maybe it really did weigh a ton. He pressed his opposite shoulder against the shelf and pushed with his legs instead. The floor beneath them creaked in protest.

“Alright, why don’t you step back now, and I’ll tip it over,” said Charlie when they’d moved it to a good angle.

“I can do it.”

“I _know_ you can do it, but I’m _asking_ you to let _me_ do it.”

Sam held his tongue, “Fine.”

He wasn’t fucking _fragile_. He ceded anyway and stepped back to wait from the edge of the room. Charlie sucked in a deep breath through his nose and bashed his shoulder against the shelf. It skittered forward an inch. Twice. Three times. He made a very loud grunt as he bashed it one more time and it finally toppled forward. It crashed through the floorboards with tremendous force, a cacophony of snapping wood and crumbling plaster. A cloud of dust and wood particles choked the room.

“Now that’s some DIY home improvement,” coughed Sam, fanning away the dust.

If Charlie heard his joke, he didn't acknowledge it. He was already over at the window, looping his rope around the wooden mullions that divided the glass that was no longer there. He nailed the anchor down with a piton and ran the rope back to the hole.

“Now you can’t complain about me not planning ahead,” he offered the rope to Sam, “Do you want to go first?”

Sam accepted it without thanks. He lowered himself through their new opening and descended into the hallway below, careful to keep tension off his bad arm. Charlie followed right after, landing on the stone floor with the heavy clunk of his boots. He clicked on his flashlight. They were already partly down the stairs, some ways away from the tree choked entrance. It smelled faintly of salt and metal.

“Do you hear that?” Sam asked.

“Hear what?”

“Shh.”

A very small electrical clicking noise. Coming from Charlie’s belt pack. He flipped open one of the pockets and pulled out the Geiger counter. The needle bounced gently.

Sam moved his flashlight up to Charlie’s face, temporarily forgetting his irritation, “That… that’s not good, right?”

“It’s… not preferable.”

Sam let out a heavy breath, “What the fuck?”

“I.. it--,” Charlie examined the counter closely, “It looks like it’s just picking up ambient radiation. It’s not in the harmful range.”

“Should there _be_ ambient radiation?”

“I-- _I dunno!”_ Charlie sounded distressed, “You were the one who said, _Ooh maybe it’s radioactive!!_ I thought maybe it was just, I don’t know, _haunted.”_

Sam guffawed, “Oh, because being haunted makes so much more sense.”

“Hey, listen, haunted or not, something’s making this tick. But it’s just ambient right now, so you’re not gonna grow another head, thank Christ -- _one_ of you is enough.”

Sam walked past Charlie and started heading down the steps, “Yeah, well, let’s hope I don’t go crazy and start murdering my family either.”

Charlie followed behind him. They walked down another fifty or so steps before the hallway opened to a small, rectangular chamber. To the left was a large stone table, adorned with brass candle holders, several stone tablets and a collection of metal bowls and containers – a shrine. To the right, was a carved relief of a map like the one they’d seen on the Island. The points of the three chalices were connected on this map; forming a large triangle that had been detailed with an embedded slate of mother of pearl. The lakes of Okunevo were the central point.

On the far side of the room stood the vault entrance.

It was a stone door, shaped like a triangle. It had been carved with the same intricacy of the floral patterns on the front door, but from the vegetation on this design emerged a figure of a man with the head of a monkey. His hands were poised at his chest, pulling open his ribcage to reveal a perfect blue stone.

The Geiger counter quickened its pace.

“Is that… Hanuman?” asked Charlie.

“I guess so?” said Sam, “I’m not really savvy with Eastern religions -- but that is _definitely_ one of our stones.”

They moved to examine the door more closely. The counter reached a furious tempo. Charlie held it up to the stone inside Hanuman’s chest and the device let out a shrill beeping.

“That would be… the _harmful_ range.”

“Shit,” laughed Sam, “Guess Madame Lavaud really did get radiation poisoning.”

“Can radiation make you go mad?”

“I don’t know,” said Sam, “But it seems like everyone who touched this stuff went off their rockers. First Meredith with her crazy sheep shack, then Lavaud with this, what is this, a temple? Then his wife takes the cake with Brunch from Hell.”

Charlie frowned, “Do you think Lavaud built this before or after he killed Meredith? It feels eerily similar to her carvings in Scotland.”

“Similar, but on steroids,” Sam touched the carvings, “I don’t know – maybe the guilt is what did Lavaud in. Guilt and radiation.”

“I wonder if it affected the children too.”

That wasn’t a thought Sam really wanted to entertain, “Let’s just hope we can get our money’s worth of Thinking Crystals and be rid of them before we start going crazy. Or, you know, before we get generally irradiated.”

“Maybe we can put it all in one of those radioactive capsules. Or maybe our buyer can get one of those lead aprons like at the dentist’s office when they x-ray your teeth.”

Sam knocked on the door's façade, “They take x-rays at the dentist?”

“Have you… never been to a dentist?”

“I dunno, a couple of times when I was a kid. And the one they had in the prison, but that wasn’t really, you know, _kosher…_ what are the x-rays for?”

“They’re to… you know, you should probably just get an appointment after this.”

Sam wasn’t really sure how to take that, so he brought his attention back to the vault instead. He knocked on the door again -- cold, solid stone. He traced his fingers around the rim… no gaps, no point of leverage to pry at.

“Shit,” he mumbled, “I don’t think demolition charges are gonna be the way to go… we blow any of this up and the whole tunnel will collapse. I guess we’re gonna have to dig the old-fashioned way.”

“Or…” said Charlie, shining his flashlight on a carving to the side of the door, “What’s this?”

The relief was about the size of his palm, shaped like a flower. At the heart of it was a small hole, he tried to stick his finger in, but it was too tight. He pointed to the other side of the door with his light, “There another one over there?”

Sam looked, “Yeah. Looks like… a keyhole? It’s not the right shape for anything on the key ring, though.”

“No, it’s not, but--”

Charlie fished for something in his pack. He pulled out a metal tin and from inside that, produced a lump of clay. He pressed it into the hole firmly. When he pulled it back out, it held the shape of a tapered crystal.

“That looks like--”

“Madame Lavaud’s murder earrings.”

Sam let out a breathless, excited laugh, “Shit, won’t Chloe be excited.”

“Could certainly save us a lot of time on digging,” said Charlie.

“Yeah, you’ll be on your beach in Barbados in no time.”

Charlie nodded and laughed a small, disheartened laugh. It tugged at a tiny, tense string in Sam’s chest.

“What?”

Charlie shook his head, “It’s nothing.”

Sam considered whether or not to push for an answer.

He decided he didn’t want to stir up whatever bad mood Charlie was in earlier. He patted him on the shoulder, “Come on, Chloe’s probably wondering where we are.”

♢

It was already nightfall by the time they reached the hotel. The ride back was mercifully quiet. Charlie immersed in his thoughts; Sam immersed in a game of Candy Crush. Chloe wasn’t at the hotel bar or the restaurant -- so they checked the pool.

Sure enough she was floating around on an inflatable elephant which she must have purchased on her day out. She raised up her sunglasses and glanced at the two of them standing at the edge of the pool, “How was your excursion, boys?”

“Eventful,” said Charlie, “You want to join us on dry land, or do I need to get my own elephant?”

She chuckled and slipped off into the water, swimming to the edge. Charlie handed her her frumpy red robe as she hoisted herself out of the pool. She tied it haphazardly and followed them to one of the patio tables.

“I took a look at the exhibit,” she said taking a seat, “Terribly morbid, but I’ve got to admit she had good style.”

“You know I always say, if I’m gonna murder I better look good doing it,” Sam snorted.

“The earrings do look like a match. Apparently there was a necklace too, but that got sold off with the estate. Apart from that, it was mostly just reading up on the whole affair – they listed some pretty grisly details for a family friendly exhibit. Didn’t mention anything about the vault or the composition of the earrings, though.”

“Well, we’ve got quite something for you to look at,” said Charlie pulling out his phone. He showed her a few pictures he had snapped of the shrine room that housed the vault.

“Is this supposed to be Hanuman?” she snorted, “Pretty poor likeness, but I guess you can’t expect much from some French asshole who thinks he’s enlightened…”

She squinted at the photograph, “Do you see the stone in his chest? In the Ramayana, Hanuman tore open his chest to reveal an image of Rama and Sita on his heart, proving his devotion. I suppose that would make this Lavaud’s devotion.”

“Well, whatever it’s supposed to be, it’s fucking radioactive.” said Sam.

“The stone is?” She asked, flagging down a waitress and requesting a daiquiri. “And two pints for the boys,” she added.

“It sent the Geiger counter off the charts.”

“I wonder if the material was toxic enough to make Madame Lavaud sick… Apparently she wore those earrings every day. They were kind of her _thing.”_

“About that,” Charlie fished out his metal tin and handed it to Chloe. She opened the lid and took the clay into her hands.

“There are… two keyholes on either side of the vault door. That shape look familiar to you?”

“Holy shit,” she laughed, “You can’t be serious – her earrings? Who hangs the key to their fortune on their wife’s earlobes??”

“The same kind of person who builds a creepy shrine in their basement,” said Sam, “Maybe she killed him cause she got sick of the fanaticism.”

“But why kill the kids too?” asked Charlie.

“I suppose that’s something only Josephine Lavaud knows now,” said Chloe, “Whatever the case, it looks like her earrings are the answer to getting into that vault.”

The waitress stopped by to deliver their drinks. Chloe smiled and took a sip of her daiquiri, “Lucky for you boys, I had the sense to check out the security.”

“What, you were already planning on swiping them?” asked Sam.

“What can I say? I like window shopping,” Chloe tipped her glass in his direction, “And I’m _always_ aware of my surroundings.”

“You get any good intel from snooping around?” asked Charlie.

“Well, It’s not the most valuable exhibit by any means -- so no acoustic system on the glass -- but there’s heavy surveillance and a guard in each exhibit hall.”

“The museum’s in a busy part of town,” noted Charlie, “It’d be too crowded to make a quick getaway. Even for you.”

“We may not have to. I found something quite interesting in the gift shop.”

She pulled a brochure out of the satchel she’d hung on her pool chair, “The museum hosts some pretty regular events, and next weekend is the Cultural Gala. Open to the public.”

“Hang on, you want to wait for more security?” Sam laughed incredulously.

“If you’d actually read the pamphlet, love,” she opened it up for him, “this event focuses on local cultural artefacts, on the first floor. The colonial artefacts are in the basement. I’d imagine a redirection of security, and quite a good amount of distraction.”

Sam and Charlie looked at each other and then back at Chloe.

“Well,” said Sam, raising his glass, “Sounds like a plan.”

♢

The room was spinning very slightly when Sam laid down for the night. Maybe it was the fifteen year dry spell that had made him into such a lightweight, or maybe it was just another side effect of getting older. At least tonight he felt pleasantly buzzed instead of sick to his stomach.

He was vaguely aware of Charlie entering the room -- he had stayed up chatting with Chloe at the hotel bar long after Sam excused himself for the night. Sounds of water running and the shuffling of clothes stirred the otherwise still atmosphere. The gentle creak of a body on the other mattress.

“Are you still awake?”

“Mm,” Sam grunted.

The whirr of the air conditioner filled the space between them.

“Sorry if I, uh, stepped on your toes,” Charlie spoke in hushed tones, “Earlier, I mean. I wasn’t trying to pick at a sensitive subject.”

“It’s not sensitive,” Sam rolled onto his side.

“I know things must be complicated between you and your brother.”

“They’re not.”

“I didn’t mean--,”

“Listen, Charlie,” Sam propped himself up on his elbows, suddenly too agitated to keep dozing, “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t think you know me well enough to come to any conclusions about my relationships, alright?”

His vision was still too blurry to gauge Charlie’s expression, but in the low light it seemed like somewhat of a grimace. Charlie sighed, a weighty, tired sound, and stretched his arms out overhead before leaning back on his own bed with his arms folded over his stomach.

“You take things very personally, you know.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one having a fit over taking the safety off.”

“Go back to sleep, Sam.”


	10. The Gala

“Happy Birthday!”

“Th--”

“Sorry, sorry I know it’s already the thirteenth there, right? Work was crazy today and I forgot about the time difference and--”

“Nathan, it’s fine. Thank you for calling me.”

Nathan looked a little dazed, with a distant smile plastered on his face as he recalculated.

“Right, right,” he said, “So did you… do anything fun? Night out?”

“Nah, not really. I mean we already had that _Surprise Party_ back in London so I just, I dunno, watched a movie in my room. Called it an early night.”

“No bar hopping?” Nathan laughed, “With Chloe and Cutter around?”

“I had a drink ordered to my room, if that counts,” Sam peered out the window at the two lazing around in the pool on their matching elephant floaties, “I just wanted some time to myself.”

“Well, uh,” Nathan seemed like he was drifting off again, “Hope I’m not cutting into anything -- Oh, here comes the head of the household herself! Here, wait, let me hold her… say hi to your Uncle Sam!”

Sam watched as Elena handed the little Bundle of Joy to Nathan from off-screen. She came around to take a seat next to him on the couch and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Meanwhile, Nathan struggled to get Cassie to look at the camera, “Say hi!”

“Sab.”

Sam smiled, “Hey, that’s pretty close. Hi, Princess.”

Cassie buried her face in her dad’s chest.

“Aw, you don’t wanna tell your uncle about all the latest _day-care_ gossip?”

“She’s just tired -- it’s way past her bedtime,” said Elena, stroking her daughter’s hair, “Oh, I got you some shirts, by the way.”

“Shirts?”

“Yeah, I didn’t really know what else to get for your birthday, but everybody likes new shirts, right? I had them mailed here since I don’t know when you’re gonna be wrapping up -- maybe you can stop by and pick ‘em up? Visit for a bit?”

“Uh, yeah, maybe,” he mumbled. The door handle rattled, and Charlie stepped in. They made brief eye contact and he closed the door quietly, mindful of Sam’s phone call. He headed to the bathroom.

“Hey, listen -- we’ve got a lot to do today and I’m sure you gotta get the little one to bed so…” Sam drifted off, “So…”

“We can let you go if you’re busy,” said Elena.

He could hear the sound of the shower.

“Yeah, I’ll… I’ll call you back sometime.”

“Take care, Sam.”

“Yeah, Happy Birthday again. Love you.”

“You too.”

He hung up and stared at his phone until the screen went black. The man reflected in that little rectangle of glass looked old and tired. If it weren’t for the colour of his eyes, he’d say that was Frank Morgan looking back at him.

He tossed his phone on the bed. He needed to start getting ready.

He knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, can I come in and use the sink?”

“Go ahead.”

The shower was sectioned off in its own stall behind a terrazzo wall, so he couldn’t see anything from the mirror. He got out his comb and wet it under the sink to start taming his hair into some semblance of decency. He’d already showered earlier that morning, so it’s not like he had an excuse to shower again. He tried not to think about how badly he wanted to join Charlie despite the fact.

They hadn’t _done_ anything since the day they’d arrived. In fact, they hadn’t said much to each other since they’d made it back from the Estate, Charlie keeping their conversations short and to the point. It was either coordinating plans for the Gala or what to have for dinner and when; and in the evenings it seemed like he only had time for Chloe. Maybe Charlie’d had a change of heart and decided the whole situation was too messy -- that it’d be better to keep his distance. Sam could hardly blame him for that.

But it bothered him.

It bothered him the same way that finding out Nathan had gotten married had. Or the way that watching Chloe make doe-eyes at Nadine in India had -- after he’d so briefly entertained the fantasy of running away with her himself. They were things he was _okay_ with -- things he was _happy_ for -- but a voice in his head still questioned if these weren’t just more ways that he’d been left behind.

Maybe Chloe’s relationship with Nadine was more open than he’d initially thought, and that’s why Charlie had spent so much time in her room this week. Maybe Chloe was so nosy about his business with Charlie because they had their own arrangement.

He imagined Chloe and Charlie in the shower together. Chloe pinned up against the wall. All while he sat in his room watching reruns of Seinfeld like an idiot. It was a stupid thought. He wasn’t jealous. If he’d just been a one-time-thing for Charlie to hold him over until he got to see Chloe again, then that was fine.

But the least they could do was be upfront about it. He could handle it. They could just come right out and tell him they were sick of having him around.

“Giving your comb a good wash, are you?”

“Huh?”

Charlie gestured at the tap that’d been blasting a stream of water onto his comb for the past three minutes. Sam turned the faucet off and returned to adjusting his hair.

“I’m gonna get dressed,” said Charlie. Sam glanced at him through the mirror, slipping out into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

He turned the faucet on again and dunked his head underneath it.

When he finished going through the trouble of blow drying his hair back into place and towelling off his undershirt he rejoined Charlie in the bedroom. He was buttoning up his silk shirt. Sam noted the intricately patterned cloth garb that draped down to his shins.

“I like your… pants?”

Charlie looked up from his buttons, “Thank you, I think it’s called a sompot? Voeng picked it out.”

Sam nodded, reaching for his shirt hanging in the closet. He’d just picked a pair of black slacks, a light coat and a white linen shirt with a mandarin collar to cover his tattoo. He hadn’t even put anything on yet and he already felt underdressed.

“Do you need help getting your wire on?” Charlie asked as he watched Sam slip his shirt onto his shoulders.

“Yeah, um. Sure.”

Charlie removed the wire and earpiece from the metal briefcase set out on his bed. Sam stood very still as Charlie strapped the transmitter around his waist and threaded the wire through his undershirt. He fixed the mic just underneath his collar bone. Sam attached the tiny earpiece while Charlie did up his buttons. It always struck him how gently Charlie moved his hands -- he affixed the collar button with such a light, practiced pressure.

His thumbs lingered on that last button. Sam brought his hands up around Charlie’s wrists and stroked a finger over the back of his hand.

“Looks nice on you.”

“Think so?”

Charlie looked at him thoughtfully. Like he was scanning his face for the answer to a question he hadn’t asked.

“Sorry if I’m, uh, ruining your time with Chloe.”

Much to his surprise, Charlie _laughed._ He felt a sudden twinge of shame.

“Mate, what’re you _talking_ about?”

“I dunno -- you and her,” Sam flopped his arms at his side, “I know she’s your best friend or whatever, so I’m sorry for ruining the mood. Being a third wheel. I dunno.”

“Is that what you think’s going on? That we don’t want you in our ‘club’?”

“I don’t know! There another reason the two of you’ve been avoiding me like the plague?”

Charlie kept laughing, an incredulous smile creeping across his face. He smoothed his hands over Sam's shirt, his thumb sliding just beneath his collar bone.

“Yeah -- because you’ve been _sulking_ and keeping to yourself.”

“I haven’t been sulking!”

“No, I guess you just get in a _mood_ when people aren’t talking about what _you_ want to talk about.”

“Wh-- is this about the other day? At the estate?”

“It’s not just at the estate, Sam,” Charlie sighed, “You’ve got a bit of a _belligerent streak_ in you when it comes to conversation. So I was just trying to be _mindful_.”

“Could’ve clued me in.”

Sam felt that twinge of shame blossom into full-blown embarrassment. He really needed to get a hold of himself. He kept his eyes cast towards the ground trying to quickly reassemble his dignity. Charlie moved his hand from his collar up to his face, running his thumb across the divot in his cheek.

“Hey,” he murmured, “You alright?”

Sam was never good with words in these situations, so instead he pushed his lips against Charlie’s. It was a surprisingly chaste kiss, and then he let his face slide into the crook of Charlie’s neck, his nose buried, and his brow pinched tight. He smelled faintly of pepper and worn leather.

“I like working with you.”

He felt a laugh rumble in Charlie’s chest.

“I like working with you, too.”

Sam inhaled sharply and pushed himself upright again. He cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt, “Sorry. Um. I don’t normally…”

“S’alright,” Charlie tugged gently at Sam’s belt loop, “I’ll, uh, try to be more obvious next time -- and we can keep the conversation to _present concerns_ if that’d make you more comfortable.”

“How courteous,” Sam laughed, sliding a hand around Charlie’s hip, “Hey, we can broker a deal -- we don’t talk about my relationships, and I won’t ask any questions about you and Cece.”

He felt an unexpected stillness beneath his hands, like Charlie’s warm nature had suddenly iced over.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Sam tried to shake it off, leaning in to kiss Charlie again, “I dunno, I’m just saying we can let bygones be--”

He held Sam at bay with his palms pressed flatly against his chest, “No, you said _Cece._ Why do you know her name?”

Sam thought about it for a moment, “Uh, I don’t know -- you just... told it to me, right?”

_“No._ I didn’t.”

He offered no leeway, no easy out. Sam shrugged, trying to ease Charlie’s palms off his chest, “Chloe told me. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Yeah, it _is_ a big deal, actually. Why did you ask Chloe?”

“I don’t know.”

He didn’t.

“If you wanted to know about her, why didn’t you just ask me? It’s not like you haven’t had plenty of opportunities,” Charlie clicked his tongue, “What else did she tell you?”

“Nothing. I just asked what her name was.”

“So, if I go ask Chloe that same question right now, she’ll tell me the same thing?”

Sam was starting to feel an anger bubble up in the pit of his stomach, “I just asked her why you broke up. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to _violate_ some sacred topic.”

“So, it’s alright to pry into my personal business, but I ask you, ‘ _Hey, who’s this Rafe person?’_ or, _‘Gee, do you think you might pay your brother a visit?’_ and _you_ tell _me_ to fuck off??”

“Why the fuck would you even need to know about Rafe--,”

“You’re missing the _point_ , Sam,” Charlie took a step back like he needed a physical buffer from him, “You asked me to trust you -- back on the island -- and I did, and I thought you trusted _me_ , but you don’t, do you?”

Sam jerked his shoulders. This was a stupid conversation to be having.

“I’m exercising an appropriate amount of caution.”

“Is that what you call going through my things?”

“What?”

“In my loft,” Charlie’s voice was pointed as he spoke, “You went through my drawers and my files -- and save me your creativity, you left everything out of order.”

Sam tried to think of a time when Charlie could have gone up into the loft while they were at his apartment. He must’ve been up while he was out on a walk or in the shower.

“I…”

“You know, I thought at first -- _fine._ Unfamiliar partner, unfamiliar place; Nathan _asked me_ to be patient with you. But I just don’t understand what’s so bloody untrustworthy about me that you can’t just ask me a simple question after all this time.”

Sam felt a low tremble in his hands. He didn’t have much in his arsenal to fight back with. Why was this the hill that Charlie wanted to die on?

“She sounded like a bitch.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. The anger in his face replaced by disbelief.

_“What?”_

“Cecilia,” said Sam flatly, “I don’t know why you’re hung up on this. She sounded like a bitch.”

Charlie nodded very deliberately; his jaw tightly clenched.

“Right,” he said, “You finish getting dressed and you come join Chloe and I when you’re ready to leave.”

He grabbed the metal briefcase from on the bed and walked out without another word.

♢

“Alright, let’s revise.”

Chloe rolled out the museum blueprints on the floor of the van. Charlie knelt down across from her as she uncapped her pen and marked several notes onto the paper. Sam leaned against the door and watched from over her shoulder.

“So, tonight’s event is focused on the foundation of _Kambuja-desa_ and the rise of the _Khmer Empire._ Some local university representatives will be giving a presentation in the Main Hall. That’s the central room here,” she tapped the blueprint, “There’s two stairways on either end that lead down to the basement where the Lavaud exhibit is housed. Voeng’s intel says there’s guards posted at either staircase, and we’ve got three cameras between the eastern staircase and the exhibit downstairs... here, here and here.”

She circled them promptly.

“Sam, you’re making the lift, so you’ll need to be right here during the intermission. Charlie and I will get the guard away from the stairs and I’ll get the access key for the surveillance room down the hall -- Charlie, you’ve got the stuff?”

Charlie raised his coat to reveal a small black bottle and a cloth tucked into the interior pocket.

“So, our security guard takes a little nap and I monitor and erase the footage. Charlie watches my back, and once you’ve got the earrings we’ll rejoin the party and cause a little ruckus so you can slip back in unnoticed.”

“Sounds like a dream,” said Sam, “You’re sure these guards won’t have guns on them?”

“Sam, it’s an Arts and Culture event for _charity.”_

“I’m just saying. You never know when someone might try to swoop in and steal the Cambodian Mona Lisa or something.”

She laughed, “And I’m sure if there _was_ a Cambodian Mona Lisa, you’d have your eyes on that, too. Let’s just be grateful that we’re focused on something small and discreet.”

She rolled up the plans and tucked them under the seat, “You ready, boys?”

The van was parked under a tree a block down from the museum. They poured out the door into the balmy evening air. Sam thought the humidity had been rough before, but it was something else in this formal attire. He walked a few paces behind Chloe and Charlie as they followed the trail of lanterns strung into the trees for tonight’s event. Charlie hadn’t so much as made eye contact with him since the hotel room. He was sure Chloe had noticed -- it’d be impossible not to -- but she kept her thoughts to herself. Professional courtesy.

The manicured hedges that lined the sidewalk rose up to form a topiary archway -- it welcomed them into a regal garden of frangipanis and Birds of Paradise. In the centre of the garden, polished slate stairs ascended to the main entry of the museum.

The building was an earthly red. Its pillars towered overhead, boasting intricate carvings of Apsaras dancing among the flowers. They rose to meet a terraced roof patterned in the traditional Cambodian style, with decorative spires adorning every corner along the complex.

Down in the garden, guests -- foreign and local -- rumbled in conversation. Golden embroidery, beads, jewellery, decorative belts -- it all shimmered under the soft yellow light of paper lanterns. Sam could smell something delicious in the air as they made their way to the entrance.

The inside of the main hall was mercifully air conditioned. The chatter here felt more restrained, the kind of idle back and forth and polite laughter that was the hallmark of formal events. Charlie wandered off on his own, taking in the exhibits. He’d need to keep separate from them for their charade to work.

“How’s the volume?” Chloe asked, lowly, her eyes cast off into the crowd.

_“Just fine, love,”_ Charlie answered over comms.

“Don’t get _too_ distracted. I’ll meet you by the stairs after the first chunk of presentations.”

_“You wound me so. Take care.”_

She clicked off the transmitter tucked under her shawl and looked at Sam, “You’re not going to be difficult, are you?”

“Me? Why do you assume _I’m_ going to be the difficult one?”

“Because I’ve been friends with Charlie for twelve years and I know what to expect from him,” said Chloe, “Now I don’t know what happened between our morning elephant float and Charlie storming into my room earlier, but I really need you two to cooperate.”

“Fine,” said Sam, punctuating the word with a tight jerk of his head, “But he started it.”

_“Your mic’s still on,”_ said Charlie.

Sam made a frustrated noise and fiddled with his mic through his shirt, “I’m gonna get some of those… chive cakes.”

He stomped off in the direction of the buffet.

He ate two chive cakes, a skewer of grilled squid and a helping of fish curry. He watched Chloe chatting away with two young women admiring a reclined Buddha statue. He wasn’t personally in the mood to appreciate art, especially when it was locked away behind glass with all the fun sucked dry.

He didn’t know where Charlie was. Probably watching the awkward grad student on stage prattle away about King Indravarman and the construction of irrigation networks. That sounded dull enough for his tastes. He frowned. The part about using monsoons to irrigate crops sounded pretty cool, actually.

By the third speaker, Sam had drifted over to the eastern stairwell. It was on the outer edge of the hall, tucked away enough that he could loiter by the potted plants without looking too suspicious. The guard looked like he was half Sam’s weight. Skinny and dressed in tidy blues with a white sash running across his chest. He looked uninterested in the night’s entertainment. Baton, flashlight, walkie talkie. Feasibly, there could be a taser in one of his belt pouches, but Sam doubted it. He’d be an easy target to knock out, but the gaggle of academics to his left were the real issue. So he waited for the speaker to finish her presentation.

An older woman stepped up to the podium on stage and encouraged a small bout of polite applause. She reminded the guests to take part in the buffet and to enjoy the exhibit -- the speakers would return after a fifteen minute intermission.

Chloe wandered into his peripheral and idled by the academics. Charlie entered the picture not long after, holding a cocktail glass. They started up a conversation. Sam meandered a little closer to the stairwell, keeping his eyes cast around the room as if he were appreciating the ambiance. Chloe’s voice took on a tense tone. She snatched the glass from Charlie’s hand.

_“I think you’ve had enough to drink.”_

Charlie gripped her wrist firmly as she threatened to walk away, _“You don’t tell_ me _how I’m supposed to spend my evening.”_

Chloe turned and slapped him across the face, loud enough to elicit a few scandalized gasps from the nearby crowd. The stairwell guard craned his neck to get a better look. Charlie grabbed her other wrist and Chloe struggled to liberate herself, _“Stop it -- stop, you are **embarrassing** me.”_

The guard stepped over, looking apprehensive at the idea of having to do his job. Sam took a quick glance at the crowd to make sure all eyes were elsewhere and moved towards the stairwell and--

“Sam? Samuel Morgan?”

He froze.

A short, Khmer woman stood directly to his right. Her eyes lit up with such a spark he felt like he’d been set on fire -- and like he needed to vomit.

“Crystal?”

“Oh my God, I thought you were _dead.”_

He felt his lungs hollow out like he’d been hit by a bus. He turned to face her fully, “I… uh, I get that a lot.”

She looked older, obviously, but gracefully so. Her hair was still jet black, but she’d ditched the teased bangs of her teenage years for a sophisticated updo that framed her square face in such a charming way. She looked… cute, in her traditional dress with the puffy sleeves. She smiled at him with such an intensity that he felt pinned to the floor.

“You-- you were… I haven’t -- what the hell are you _doing_ here?”

“I, um… I could ask the same about you.”

Sam glanced over at Chloe and Charlie. The guard was still talking to them. Chloe peered over his shoulder and met Sam’s eyes with a lightning strike of concern.

“Wh-- I _live_ here. I mean, I don’t live in the museum, obviously, but I work for the Ministry of Culture here in Siem Reap. I organized tonight’s event.”

Sam felt like a stalled loading screen.

“Uh… cool.”

_“Cool?”_

Her eyebrows shot up expectantly. Behind her he could see the guard stepping away from Chloe and Charlie and moving back to his post.

“Sorry, I um,” he spoke up, broadcasting his voice over comms, _“I wasn’t expecting to see someone I knew tonight.”_

“I can imagine -- I mean, you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here. Are you on vacation?”

“Something like that,” he glanced down at the empty glass in her hand, “Can I get you a drink? Let me get you a drink.”

“Wh--Sam!” she called after him as he yanked the glass out of her hand and did an about-turn, wading into the crowd.

_“What the hell is going on?”_ Chloe’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Change of plans. Someone I know. Very well. I’m not gonna be able to make the lift as long as she knows I’m here.”

_“You have a lot of friends in Cambodia, do you?”_ Chloe asked.

“Listen, I know her from… from _Boston --_ she’s a childhood friend. I barely remembered she existed, so it’s not like I was expecting her.”

_“Do I need to play up another distraction with someone else?”_ asked Charlie, _“Chloe could make the lift.”_

Sam poured himself two glasses of punch or whatever the fuck this brown stuff in a bowl was.

“If you do that, you’re gonna get yourself kicked out or tazed and then we’ve got no way to doctor the surveillance or get Chloe out of the basement.”

_“Shit.”_

“Listen, uh… Chloe is she still there?”

_“Yeah, I think she’s looking around for you.”_

“Okay, okay… were you able to get the access card off the guard?”

_“Of course.”_

“Alright, I might have an idea. Give the key to Charlie and then _bump into me_ in about three minutes. Charlie, standby and keep that key card ready.”

_“Roger that.”_

Sam made his way back to Crystal. She was tip-toeing in her heels trying to spot him in the crowd. God, he forgot how short she was. She smiled when she saw him coming her way.

“Sorry, you looked…” he placed a glass in her hands, “thirsty?”

She laughed, “You’re so fucking weird.”

“Glad you still think I’m funny, though.”

“Yes, you were _always_ funny,” She smiled at him fondly. For a moment he felt lost in a memory.

“So… how... have you been?”

“I’ve been,” he paused to consider, “I’ve been alright.”

“Yeah?” she seemed vaguely endeared by his awkward responses, “Well what have you been up to all these years? What do you do for work?”

“Salvage,” he said, “I work salvage and recovery. My company actually got contracted out for a dive on the Mekong.”

She knitted her eyebrows together, “So you’re here for work? And… _not_ vacation?”

“Hey, any day I’m not at the office is a vacation to me.”

“I know what you mean.” She smiled, “I’m really happy to hear that, though. I really Honest to God thought you died. Or went to jail. I’m glad it was neither of those things.”

He raised his glass meekly, “Yeah. I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their glasses together.

“You look like you’ve done really well for yourself,” Sam continued, “Ministry of Culture, huh?”

She laughed, “Uh, yeah… after you… _left_ , I ended up getting really involved with a lot of refugees in my community. I started this _activist publication_ in college, and I ended up getting my phD in humanities and I’d just go _back and forth_ all the time for my research, so eventually… the move just made sense? I started teaching at the University and now I’m… actually the American Ambassador for the Ministry.”

“Wow, that’s… really impressive. I’m happy for you.”

Her smile settled into a more rueful expression. He could _feel_ the question on the tip of her tongue and the urge to vomit prickled at his throat again. Like an angel sent from heaven above, Chloe wandered into their vicinity.

“Ah, Crystal this is,” he urged Chloe to his side, “This is my sister-in-law, _Elena.”_

Chloe forced a toothy smile, _“Hello.”_

They shook hands.

“Hi, I’m Crystal -- I’m one of Sam’s old friends.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Crystal’s eyes flitted back and forth between the two of them.

“So, are you... Sam’s wife’s sister, or?”

Chloe laughed, “Oh my God, _no._ Can you imagine Sam? _Married?”_

Crystal wrinkled her nose and bit back a laugh.

“No, I’m _Nate’s_ wife.”

“Ohhh, my God. _Nathan._ I almost forgot about him. Is he here too?”

Sam squeezed Chloe to his side, “No, no, he’s back home with the kids. Elena’s actually here with me because she’s a _journalist.”_

Chloe nodded tightly.

“She’s been working on this _really_ involved piece about French colonial architecture in Southeast Asia, but she’d never been, so I thought, what better opportunity, right? So while I’ve been working she’s been going on tours, taking in the sights.”

Crystal’s face lit up, “That’s so exciting -- we actually have an entire wing dedicated to the colonial era here at the museum, have you had the chance to see it?”

“I _haven’t,”_ said Chloe in a sickly-sweet tone, “I thought we’d be able to tonight, but I had _no idea_ the exhibit would be closed for the event -- and we’ve got our flight to catch tomorrow.”

“Oh, I can take you downstairs if you’d like! I was just telling Sam that I helped put on tonight’s event -- my office works with the museum all the time.”

_“Could you really?”_

“Of course, of course -- anything for a friend.”

She ushered them over to the stairwell and exchanged a few brief words with the security guard. He stepped aside and gestured them forwards, a skeptical eye lingering on Chloe as they walked by.

_“If I’d have known it was that easy, I would’ve loved to be spared a slap to the face,”_ said Charlie.

♢

The colonial wing was much less grand than the Main Hall. It was a narrow, rectangular space with polished marble floors and track lighting that was currently turned off.

“Let me get the lights,” said Crystal, fiddling around with an electrical box tucked behind the stairwell.

_“Charlie, we’re gonna need you in the surveillance room pretty soon,”_ Sam mumbled, passing the lockpick into Chloe’s fingers surreptitiously.

_“I can be there in a minute. What are you going to do about your ‘friend’?”_

“I don’t suppose we could just knock her out?” mumbled Chloe through closed teeth.

“If we touch a single hair on her head, I guarantee we’re gonna have the cops on us the instant she wakes up.”

_“Too intimately acquainted, are you?”_ Chloe chided.

The lights sprung on with an industrial _thunk,_ revealing glass cases containing miniature models of colonial buildings, mannequins adorned in nineteenth century fashion, portraits, photographs, and most importantly the Lavaud Exhibit.

_“We’ll figure it out as we go,”_ said Sam.

“There,” said Crystal, clacking back over to them in her little heels. She smiled at Chloe, “An exclusive private viewing, just for Mrs. Morgan.”

“I really can’t thank you enough,” Chloe chirped back. She locked eyes briefly with Sam before turning to wander through the hall. Crystal stood resolutely by Sam’s side, her eyes trailing on Chloe as she took in the exhibits, pulling out her phone to snap a few pictures.

_“What now, genius?”_ mumbled Chloe once she was out of earshot.

“She seems nice,” said Crystal, peering up at Sam. She fidgeted with her fingers behind her back.

“Yeah, she’s great,” Sam laughed, “Nathan’s crazy about her.”

A coy smile crept across her face, “So… you never got married, huh?”

“Ehh, you know me. I’m not the type, right? What about you?”

_“Sam.”_

“I’m… divorced, actually.”

“Holy shit, wait -- really?”

“Please don’t make me talk about it. He was a line cook at the diner I worked at in college -- I was twenty-two and _very_ stupid.”

He laughed, “Well, we can just leave the married-business to Nathan.”

_“Sam, the earrings.”_

She offered him a small smile, “I’m glad he’s doing okay. When the two of you went missing, I thought--,”

“Hey, hey--,” Sam interrupted, “Elena doesn’t know about… _all that.”_

He gestured over to Chloe with the flick of his eyes, “Maybe we could… talk about it somewhere else? I just don’t want her overhearing personal stuff before Nathan gets the chance to tell her himself.”

“Oh,” Crystal whispered back, “Um… I’m not allowed to leave anyone unattended in the exhibit halls, but -- maybe we could talk later? After the Gala? I mean, if you don’t have somewhere else to be.”

_“Ooh, so close, Mr. Morgan.”_

Sam forced a smile, “Yeah, we could do that.”

Over their comms he could hear a muffled voice on Charlie’s end, followed by thirty seconds of thumping and struggling on his mic.

_“I’m in the security room now -- I can see the lot of you on camera. We’ve got about ten minutes before the desflurane wears off and the guard wakes up.”_

“That’s the Josephine Lavaud Display,” Crystal called out as Chloe strolled up to the exhibit, “One of my students assisted in the curation of that one. The dress was transferred here from a smaller museum that lost funding.”

“You know, my colleague wrote an article about this murder in a travel journal,” said Chloe, “Such an interesting case, but so sad.”

“It made international news when it happened,” said Crystal, “It was so shocking -- and to this day, we still have no idea what motivated it. We get a lot of those _paranormal investigator_ shows requesting access to the estate, but the building’s in such disrepair it’s just not safe.”

“What a shame. The architecture is stunning in these photos.”

Crystal laughed, “You wouldn’t believe the number of people who get arrested for trespassing on that site. There was this crazy theory about Yannic Lavaud hoarding treasure in this ‘secret vault’ -- but the house is directly on the quarry. There’s nothing but old mining equipment.”

Charlie’s voice rang in, _“Sorry to interrupt Storytime, but I think we might have a problem.”_

“I’d be happy to email you some more detailed photos from one of our researchers,” said Crystal.

_“Lads. Someone is radioing in on the guard’s walkie-talkie. I don’t know what they’re saying but they’re probably expecting a response.”_

“Tell me about this one,” said Sam, sliding an arm around Crystal and guiding her over to a series of portraits on the northern wall.

“Oh, this display focuses on the Cambodian Campaign for Independence--,”

Now out of Crystal’s direct line of vision, Chloe murmured into her shawl, _“Charlie just radio back and tell them everything’s under control.”_

_“I would love to but I don’t fucking speak Khmer and I can see two guards heading my way on the monitor.”_

_“Shit,”_ she spat, _“Sam, you’ve got to get rid of Crystal.”_

He glanced over at Chloe, his arm still slung around the woman by his side, all he could do was offer a panicked expression.

_“Can you try to make the lift while she’s talking to Sam?”_ Charlie asked, tension prickling in his voice.

_“There’s two locks on this case, there’s no way.”_

“--and in 1953, Sihanouk travelled to France to negotiate independence, but the French president accused him of--”

_“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Okay. Chloe, be ready to move -- and fast. I’m sorry in advance.”_

_“Charlie, what--”_

She clapped her hands over her ears as a sudden alarm blared through the museum -- and the sprinkler system burst to life.

_“I’m sorry!”_

“Holy _shit,”_ Crystal yelped, blinded by the sudden onslaught of water.

In one swift motion, Sam shrugged the coat off his shoulders and slung it over Crystal’s head to keep her dry. He guided her back towards the stairwell in a hurried pace, “I’ve got you, Sweetness.”

She stumbled up the stairs with him, choking out little sounds of distress. Chloe dived at the locks.

_“Charlie, have you got the cameras for me?”_

_“I’m back in the hallway -- I didn’t have time to adjust them as planned so… so I just shut everything off.”_

_“Christ, that’s not going to be suspicious at all.”_

_“Oh and I suppose the sudden shower didn’t tip anyone off either,”_ Charlie barked, _“I wasn’t really presented with a lot of options.”_

_“Where are you now?”_ muttered Sam.

_“I’m in the hallway, I see you and Crystal coming up the stairs. I’m heading for the Main Hall.”_

As Sam and Crystal rejoined the panicked crowd upstairs, the sprinklers shut off and the M.C. clambered onto the stage, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain calm, please--”

The microphone shrieked and disconnected, short-circuiting with a loud pop. The hall echoed with panicked murmuring and the distressed wails of soaked attendees. Sam felt Crystal shake out a tiny sob under his arms.

“The… the Gala… the exhibits...”

“Hey,” he squeezed her close and ran his hand up and down her arm, “Hey, come on…”

_“Chloe, what’s your status?”_

_“I’m working on it -- I can’t fucking see, I’ve got fucking mascara in my eyes -- I didn’t think I’d need to wear waterproof at a fucking museum, fuck--”_

Sam glanced around, keeping Crystal pulled close as she sobbed. Charlie was in the back corner of the hall, near the stairwell. Behind him, three guards were barrelling down the hallway -- having returned from the surveillance room -- presumably intent on finding whoever drugged their staff and set off the alarm. They passed right by Charlie and spread out. The tallest of the group headed for the stairwell.

_“Chloe you need to get out of there,”_ said Charlie.

_“I’m not done -- the fucking tumbler is jammed.”_

_“Chloe, you’ve got about thirty seconds.”_

_“I said it’s jammed!”_

The guard had his foot on the steps. 

Charlie locked eyes with Sam.

“Hey!” he shouted, loud enough to turn every head in his corner. The guard turned in place.

Charlie came stomping towards Sam with a presence far more intimidating than Sam had thought him capable of. He yanked the coat off Crystal’s head. Sam felt real anger boil up at the sound of her frightened peep.

“This your idea of a fucking joke?” Charlie shouted.

Crystal looked like a terrified little mouse as she peered up at him from behind her hands, “I… I don’t understand.”

“This is your event, right?”

“Hey, back the fuck up--” Sam barked, shoving him away from Crystal.

“Let the lady speak for herself,” Charlie barked back, gripping Sam by his collar.

Sam clasped his hand around Charlie’s wrist with an iron grip, “Buddy, I’m gonna give you three seconds to let go of me.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna do something _brave,_ are you?”

Sam clicked his tongue and slammed his fist into Charlie’s jaw. Charlie dropped him. Crystal shrieked. The crowd erupted in a chorus of gasps.

He wiped the blood off his lip and slugged Sam right between the eyes. Sam gripped him by the lapel and kneed him in the stomach. Charlie's hands were around his ears and the sudden collision of their heads made him see stars.

He felt arms wrap around him and yank him backwards -- two more guards on Charlie dragging them apart. Shouting. A third guard wrestling Charlie towards the exit. Chloe slinking up the staircase and disappearing into the crowd.

_“Leave him alone, leave him alone!”_ Crystal sobbed, urging the guard to let go of Sam. The man obliged and Crystal slipped her fingers around Sam’s wrist, dragging him out into the courtyard.

Chloe’s voice rang through their ears.

_“And gentlemen, that’s a wrap.”_

♢

“Ow.”

“I know, I know -- I’m sorry... he really got you good, huh?”

Sam’s transmitter had gotten smashed with the force of one of Charlie’s punches, so he’d been sitting with Crystal, completely out of contact, for the past fifteen minutes. She dabbed at the blood trickling down his nose with a handkerchief. They were seated under a tree on the edge of a planter box in the courtyard as she tended to him. He’d been through much worse, but he let her have her way with cleaning up the blood. She stroked his fingers with her free hand.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, “I’m just sorry that guy hassled you like that.”

“I’m not the one bleeding,” she said, folding her handkerchief in half and dabbing at his nose again, “God, what was _wrong_ with him?”

“Maybe he was mad that the waterworks messed up his hair?”

Crystal chuckled. She dabbed at a spot of blood on his collar.

“You sure you’re alright?” she asked, “That was… really scary.”

“Hey, I’m fine. You’ve seen me worse off, haven’t you?”

She smiled with her eyes cast down, “God, remember the time with Brandon?”

“Shit, he almost knocked my teeth out.”

“You had to get _stitches_ \-- God, he really was a maniac, huh?”

“He was, uh… not my finest choice in friends, that’s for sure.”

“You had pretty shit choice in friends in general, if I remember correctly.”

“Hey, I liked _you_ \-- didn’t I?”

Her smile faded into a thoughtful little line. It made his stomach twist with what was coming next.

“Where did you _go,_ Sam?”

“Come on, Crys, you don’t really want to talk about this, do you?”

_“Please,_ Sam.”

She looked small and concerned and dishevelled. Her eyes glimmered with a sadness under the light of the paper lanterns. He touched her wrist. He didn’t know what to say to her.

“Sam, the _police_ called me.”

His eyes shot up to meet hers again, “About the break-in?”

She looked confused, “The brea-- what are you talking about? They said Nathan snuck out on his own. Did you break into the Home?”

“I… I don’t think I’m following.”

She bit her lip and pulled her hands into little fists as she tried to piece together a memory, “Well… when Nathan went missing… I think… the Sisters called your dad. They thought that maybe Nathan had tried to get to him in Philadelphia. When he never turned up, your dad filed a missing persons report. He thought maybe _you_ took Nathan, so the police went to Jacob and he said you never came home either.”

“Frank did all that?”

Crystal nodded, “Yeah, it was a really big deal. He even ran Nate’s picture on the TV. But you -- you were always… not to be rude, but, up to no good. The police already had that bench warrant out for you, so I remember they were, like, trying to figure out if… if you had taken him or if you were just… doing your thing again.”

_“Doing my thing?”_

“I don’t know -- your _thing,_ Sam. I don’t know if you remember but you would just disappear -- for weeks, sometimes. I know you were working but I didn’t know what to say to the police. I hadn’t even _seen_ you for a month before all this happened.”

It was a lot to take in. He wondered if the police had pieced everything together. If they thought he was guilty, if they thought he’d _murdered_ that old woman in the mansion -- and then withheld that as they questioned everyone he knew. He thought of breaking and entering, murder charges -- did they think he _kidnapped_ his brother? Did _Frank_ think he kidnapped him?

“Sam, are you okay?” she touched his face very gently.

He tried to gather his thoughts into words, but all he could muster was a weak noise in the back of his throat.

Crystal slipped her arms around him and hugged him to her chest. He leaned down to fit into her tiny embrace.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

He pulled away from her arms and looked her in the eyes. He couldn’t even think of a story to spin.

“We got in trouble.” he said, “I needed to keep Nathan safe so I took him with me. I… I wasn’t gonna leave him behind.”

Crystal nodded, “Okay, Sam. That’s okay.”

“He _wanted_ to go with me.”

“I believe you, Sam.”

He nodded, his jaw painfully tight.

“He wouldn’t have survived without me and -- he’s married now. He has a kid. He has a house.”

“I know, Sam.”

He hugged her again, digging his chin into her shoulder. She stroked his back. He felt dizzy, like he wanted to black out. Maybe he’d gotten concussed again. She felt so warm in his arms. She still used the same perfume.

“I’m just happy you’re both safe,” she murmured into his hair, “I’m happy I got to see you again.”

He kissed her.

She tasted like tangerines.

He held her face very gently in his hands and pulled her into him. She soothed her fingers over the back of his neck.

When they broke apart, she kept one hand resting softly on his jaw. He pleaded an apology with his eyes, and she pressed a very delicate kiss to the bruise on his cheek.

_“You’re such an idiot,”_ she whispered.

Sam laughed.

_“Sam?”_

Chloe stood under an archway at the edge of the courtyard.

“Elena,” he called back, pulling his hands away from Crystal’s, “I didn’t know where you went.”

“Well, I’m glad I found you -- I was starting to worry,” she looked at the two of them, “I’m heading back to the hotel. Are you coming along?”

Crystal gave him a nervous glance.

“Um, I think…” he turned back to Chloe, “I think we’re gonna catch up for a bit if that’s okay. Can I meet you later?”

He couldn’t read her expression from this distance, but her face was fixed with an unwavering look.

“Okay. I’ll see you at the hotel.”

She turned and walked off.

_“Is he alright? I really didn’t mean to get him in the nose.”_

“He’s fine, Charlie.”


	11. Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I split this chapter into two, so one more chapter overall. Please enjoy! <3

He whispered at first.

_“Rafe?”_

No response.

He spoke again, louder this time.

_“Rafe.”_

Nothing.

He counted to ten and sat up, careful not to stir the man beside him.

Rafe looked peaceful when he slept. It was the only time he did. Sam dug himself out from under the covers and eased his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold enough to make his feet ache.

He tapped his fingers gently over the surface of the nightstand, searching for his watch in the dark. He tilted it to catch the light from the window. Four hours since they’d laid down for the night. He placed it back on the table -- he didn’t need a reminder of this place.

It took him two weeks of asking to get high _(Come on Rafe, it’s just Xanax, just let me take the edge off)_ and hiding pills under his tongue to get a big enough dose to keep Rafe asleep. Finally chopping them up with the liberated blade of a safety razor in the bathroom while Rafe was out on one of his runs. Counting the days and dumping out his gelatin capsules of expensive homeopathic vitamin whatever and refilling them with the fine powder.

He looked over his shoulder at the sleeping form next to him. He looked small and subdued under the covers. He ran a finger experimentally across his cheek. When he didn’t move, Sam ventured to brush a few strands of hair behind his ear.

_“Natalia, can you leave the security system disarmed when you’re done cleaning? I wanna have my Scotch out by the pool tonight -- I’ll turn it on when I come in.”_

_“Sure thing, Mr. Drake.”_

He tried to quiet his thoughts before the fear could settle in. _Count to ten one more time._

He got up.

Jeans. Black shirt. His sherpa jacket. The less missing, the less suspicion -- even if it only bought him a few extra minutes. He unscrewed the vent cover by the closet and pulled out his bounty: a pack of cigarettes, a print out of the St. Dismas Cross up for auction next month and two twenty dollar bills. He felt bad accepting money from a seventeen year old, but he’d make it up to Joseph someday if he could.

It took him two years to work up the courage for this. Two years to stew in his anger, his regret, his fear, his loneliness. Two years and the promise of finishing what they’d started. Maybe it would be enough for Nathan to forgive him.

_“Where’s Nathan?”_

_“He’s in New Orleans, with his wife. He’s moved on.”_

Nathan thought he was dead. That’s what he told himself to fall asleep at night. Nathan saw him die. Nathan didn’t know. Why else would he have left him in Panama for thirteen years? Why else would Rafe be standing in front of those prison gates. Rafe and not Nathan. Rafe. A stupid fucking fling from the past -- a mistake he wished he’d never made. He didn’t know what to believe now.

_“He’s moved on.”_

Rafe who barely looked a day older than when he last saw him.

Rafe with his stupid perfect hair and perfect face, perfect hands, perfect nails digging into his back as they fucked on the private jet back to the Land of the Free.

At first it seemed as though Rafe hadn’t changed at all. Same youthful face, same, somehow _fuller_ hairline -- pushing forty and not a single grey hair in sight. It made Sam so much more painfully aware of the passage of time when he looked at his own reflection in the towering mirrors that choked the bedroom wall. Prison. Smoking. Loneliness. None of it had been kind to him.

But just as everything else in the world, Rafe _had_ changed. Sam noticed it in the tight, barely perceptible wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. The way he was stronger, more filled out -- a body constructed from bespoke exercise routines and the finest supplements. The way the nervous, unpredictable energy in his eyes had settled into something cold and restrained. In their thirteen years apart, Rafe had formulated the perfect mask of all the things he wanted people to believe about him.

But a mask is only skin deep and all the rage from when they’d first met -- the insecurity, the desire for perfect control -- still floated beneath the surface. Just deep enough that Sam could pretend not to see it on the nights he needed to believe that Rafe cared about him. That he hadn’t traded one prison cell for another.

He missed his brother.

He pressed his forehead against the doorframe between the bedroom and the bathroom and cast his eyes towards the bed one more time.

_“He’s moved on.”_

It felt nice to be held. It felt nice to be needed.

Did Nathan still need him?

How long would it be before he’d find a bullet between the eyes?

Rafe sighed heavily in his sleep, and that was enough to get Sam through the door.

No cameras in the bathroom. He propped open the window over the tub and climbed out, stepping gingerly on the gravel landscaping -- trying to make as little noise as possible. His jeans caught on the juniper bushes as he descended through the manicured estate and ventured into the thick underbrush that suffocated the mountain.

There was something strangely disquieting about Texas in the dark -- the way the trees formed a low flat cover overhead before opening to an endless dark sky. He stumbled over uneven ground, his legs assaulted by low cactuses and burrs. He said his Hail Marys and prayed he didn’t fall off a sheer cliff-face on this impossibly twisted hillside. He was headed due north towards the city.

The stretch of highway that cut through the hills felt like a holy benediction when he’d walked far enough to feel blood begin to soak the tip of his left shoe. But hitchhiking was a lot harder in the twenty-first century. Or maybe it was just harder because no one wanted to pick up a six-foot-something forty-year-old in the middle of the night. He blessed the trucker who pulled over for him.

“Now I’m headin’ north to Wichita,” said the man with the moustache, “But I can drop you off in Dallas. You won’t have trouble getting to Shreveport from there and once you’re in Louisiana someone’s bound to be headin’ to N’Orleans.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Dallas is… great. Thank you.”

“Ain’t no problem. Figured you must be hard pressed if you’re flagging people down at four ay-em. What’d you say your name was?”

“It’s Brandon.”

The little pine tree air freshener bobbed back and forth hypnotically on the rearview mirror.

“Hey, do you mind if I smoke?” Sam asked, his head still resting against the window, “My hands are a little shaky…”

“Long as you intend to share, son.”

He might have been heading in the wrong direction, but whatever made him harder to find he’d gladly take. New Orleans would be the first place Rafe would look, then all along the southern coast back through Texas. But Dallas was a big city. He’d be safe there for some time.

He’d make his way to Nathan, and it would be just like before.

They would finish what they’d started. Together.

Three weeks and forty dollars to get from Northern Texas to Southern Italy.

He’d gotten farther on less.

♢

He’d almost forgotten the way Crystal crunched herself into a tight little ball whenever she slept. She was angled away from him with the blankets pulled up to her cheeks; her eyebrows knitted furiously like she was having the most intense dream. Sam kissed her forehead, and she wrinkled her nose and made a tiny noise of protest. She always hated being bothered when she was sleeping.

It wasn’t that late -- just barely past one -- but he was feeling restless and he knew he really should get back before morning. He crept out of bed and began the search for his clothes.

Her little orange tabby watched him with inquisitive eyes as he buttoned up his slacks. He squinted to try and make out the silver tag on his collar.

_‘Milky’_

What a dumb name for a cat.

Cute, though.

She had a nice apartment. A lot of purple. She did like purple. Wooden accents. Nice rug. Very large stuffed dog (at least he thought it was a dog) in the corner of the room on top of a chair piled high with laundry. Notebooks and her laptop set out on the desk.

Somehow, even thousands of miles away and almost thirty years in the future, it still felt like her room. It made him think of the first time they had sex. Seeing her in the matching bra and panty set, laying back on her purple duvet under her soft fairy lights. Her parents were gone for the weekend and she was nervous, but she said she trusted him. They watched _The Man Who Fell to Earth_ on the TV afterwards and fell asleep halfway through.

He remembered her painting her nails, sitting on the pink shag rug that she just _had_ to bring with her when she moved into the dorm. He sat behind her on the bed and played with her hair as he thumbed through a comic.

He remembered her assuring her parents what a good boyfriend he was and that he was doing something with his life. He looked at her now, snuggled into her bed like a cat. He was glad her fiery ambition had taken her someplace she wanted to be. He hoped she was happy.

It was hard not to imagine what life would have been like if he could’ve stayed somehow. Would this be their home instead of just hers? Maybe he would’ve been the one with the wife and kid and terraced house.

Probably not.

Crystal was already getting sick of him at the tender age of nineteen, he could barely imagine them lasting through her sophomore year. It was hard to imagine being with anyone for so long. Calling anywhere home. Even if it felt like it for a night.

But it was nice to see her again.

He left a little post-it note on the door when he left.

_‘Thanks’_

♢

It didn’t take too long to get back to the hotel. Traveling at night felt sacred, somehow -- like the night would never end. He’d had his fair share of excitement in the dark. Things were easier to steal, escapes were easier made -- but memories made their home in the night and he felt like he was living in the past; right up until he unlocked their door and saw Charlie asleep, swaddled in white hotel sheets.

A reminder that time wasn’t something you could take back.

He shuffled by him cautiously and made his way into the bathroom. He kept the lights off as he showered and held his forehead pressed against the wall, letting the water fog up the room. He felt dizzy. Thoughts of Crystal, Rafe and Charlie swam around inside his head. Thoughts of Nathan. Of Frank. He imagined them slinking out of his body and swirling down the drain. No one to anchor to, no place to call home.

He realized he’d been dozing when the water dripping down his face felt cold. He turned off the tap.

He toweled off and felt around in the dark for his boxers. It took two tries to get his leg through correctly. He slid the bathroom door open and was surprised to find the room bathed in a faint blue light.

“Oh. I thought you were asleep.”

Charlie was sitting propped up against the headboard, remote in hand. The TV flashed its sci-fi colours around the room and a young man on the screen spoke words that sounded closer to a dull hum at such a low volume.

“Woke up when you came in.”

“Sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”

“S’alright.”

Sam leaned against the wall. Charlie muted the volume.

“I can turn it off if you want. I don’t want to keep you up.”

Sam shook his head quietly, his hand cupped around his jaw, fingers pressed into his lips. He felt like water spinning down the shower drain.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Charlie said nothing, but he kept his eyes on Sam. There was a sadness to his expression that was visible even in this low light.

“For what I said about Cecilia. I was being a dick.”

Charlie closed his eyes and sighed. He scooched over a bit and patted the space next to him on the bed.

Sam accepted the invitation wordlessly, climbing into bed and sliding his arms around Charlie. He pressed his face into his shoulder. For all the time they'd spent together, he realized they'd never actually hugged. Charlie rubbed a slow circle onto his back. He felt some of the tightness in his chest uncoil.

"I don't know what's wrong with me."

Charlie nudged Sam off his shoulder so that he could slide a hand around his face, cupping his fingers behind his ear, "Well for starters, you really _are_ kind of a dick,” he said, before pressing a kiss the tip of his nose, “But against my better judgement, I still seem to like you anyway.”

Sam dropped his forehead to Charlie's shoulder again with a pained little laugh. He felt like everything he’d had a grasp on these past few weeks was slipping away through the cracks. He felt an ache in his chest. Not the tightness that had choked him before, but something knotted and afraid, a hole that he'd been too scared to look down.

He pulled in a shaky breath and it _hurt._

_“Hey,”_ Charlie muttered into his hair, running his fingers through his locks, _“Lay down with me?”_

He was so gentle. With his hands, with his voice.

_“Okay.”_

He let Charlie guide him under the covers. He pressed his face against the cool feather pillow and felt Charlie slide his arms around his torso, pulling his back flush up against him. He didn’t know why, but it made him feel afraid. Not of Charlie, but of something he didn’t have words for. He wanted to get up and leave. Walk out the door and into town and watch the sun rise by himself. He let Charlie hold him.

_“Are you alright?”_

“I don’t know.”

Charlie kept his cheek pressed flush against his back, waiting for him to speak.

“It’s like I’m constantly trying to outdo myself for the Worst Human Alive award.”

Sam felt a puff of air against his skin that might have been a laugh.

“I could think of quite a number of people who’d place ahead of you.”

For a moment, he imagined a posthumous award ceremony, a little trophy to top off the pile of treasure that had been Rafe’s undoing. It should have been funny but the image hurt more than he’d ever hope to admit.

“Can I tell you something kind of fucked up?”

“You can if you’d like,” Charlie mumbled, stroking a thumb over his shoulder very softly.

“Do you… remember,” Sam started very quietly, “Back at your apartment -- when I told you about the last time I saw my dad?”

Charlie seemed a bit taken aback at the subject matter, but he kept his thumb tracing circles over his shoulder, “Yes, I do.”

“I, uh,” Sam felt the dull prickle of pins and needles in his brain again, “I saw him one more time after that.”

He wasn’t sure why the impulse to share this had struck him. Why he’d allowed these thoughts to follow him out of the shower. Why he thought Charlie would want to hear them.

“I’m sorry, this is stupid.”

_“It’s not,”_ he said, “But you don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”

But he did want to. He wanted to tell _someone._ He wanted to tell Charlie.

“I’ve just never talked about it before.”

“I’ll be patient.”

Sam pulled Charlie’s arm tighter around his chest.

He felt pathetic.

He felt _afraid._

“Um… I, uh… when he… When he told me he was leaving…,” Sam struggled to find the words to put a memory into something tangible, “He said he’d try to come back to visit. That we could stay with him for Christmas. But. I don’t know. I felt like he was just saying that to make me feel better. I was so angry at him.”

He could smell the old dirt caked onto the fabric seats of Frank’s beige sedan. Feel the potholes bouncing him around on that one uphill street on the way back to the Home. The way his dad wouldn’t look at him as he spoke.

“I didn’t even say goodbye when I got out of the car, I just. Hated him so much. I was so _angry_ after that. Like I didn’t even know who I was, I was so mad.

“Then, it must have been a month later? We were supposed to be watching a movie in the rec room. There wasn’t anything even happening that day, but I just… got it in my head that I wanted to make my dad sorry.”

It was August. Nathan was sitting right up in front of the TV with the younger kids. It was just after dinner.

“I just. Got up, and I went to the lockers where they kept the sports equipment. I took this baseball bat... and I went down to the church parking lot and I just started… _smashing_ all the windows out of every single car -- until one of the priests tackled me like a fucking linebacker. I was so angry, I felt like I couldn’t stop. I broke two of his ribs and he broke my wrist trying to wrestle the bat out of my hands. They had to call the cops.”

_“Sam--,”_

“I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just wanted my dad to see how angry he made me. I thought maybe if he saw how much I was hurting, that he’d… stay. I think Father Duffy could _tell,_ so he called him when we were at the police station. I thought he’d yell at me. I think maybe I wanted him to. But he just looked so disappointed. He asked me why I did it and all I could do was cry.”

Charlie held him tighter, pressing his palm against Sam’s chest like it was the only thing anchoring him to this world. Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“He paid all the fines. God, it must’ve made his life a living hell. But he never yelled at me. He just let Father Duffy take me home and… that was the last time I saw him. I think it made me feel better in some weird kind of way. Like he gave up on me and that was my closure. I didn’t have to be angry anymore. But I think… I _wonder_ sometimes, was I the reason he gave up on Nathan, too?”

“Sam, you were a kid.”

He thought of Frank and the police searching for Nathan. Maybe he and Donna wanted him after all. Maybe they were just waiting for Sam to be out of the picture. Waiting for him to get arrested or offed on some stupid stunt. Nathan wouldn’t have wanted to go with them otherwise.

“I didn’t last much longer at the Home after that. I think maybe that’s when I really grew up, right? If Frank couldn’t be there for us, then I _would._ I took care of Nathan, not him. That’s all that mattered to me. I worked a lot, I moved around a lot, and I _never_ missed Nathan’s birthday.”

Suddenly he was tumbling down a craggy hillside in Southern Texas, limping along the highway, flagging down passing cars with nothing but a crumpled banknote and the hopes of finding his brother again.

“Taking care of Nathan was my entire life, but…” he felt so very far away, “But I guess he doesn’t really need that anymore.”

Charlie took a deep breath, like he was deciding what to do with all this information. Maybe he’d overshared. Made himself into a fool by painting a pitiful little sob story.

Suddenly he was being flipped onto his back and Charlie was blowing a raspberry into his cheek. He laughed reflexively, “What the _fuck,_ Charlie.”

Charlie laughed as he peppered a series of kisses up and down the side of his face, “Do you _know_ how ridiculous you sound?”

“Come on, I’m baring my _soul_ to you right now.”

Charlie’s laughter died down to a low rumble, and he pressed a longing kiss to his lips. He stroked Sam’s cheek with his thumb, “And I’m glad you did, but -- Sam, your brother _adores_ you. So does Elena. So does Chloe--,” he kissed him again, “So do _I.”_

Sam groaned.

“Not Nadine, though,” Charlie continued, “she still thinks you’re a prick and she’s right-- _hey!!”_

Sam tried to shove him off, but the effort was weak, and his hand just flattened against Charlie’s face. He laughed again. Charlie urged his hand to grip around his cheek and he leaned down to kiss him one more time. Slowly, deeply -- with none of the frenzied passion he’d felt in the times before. Instead, Charlie kissed him with an urgent tenderness, like he was trying to make something between them understood.

He rolled off him and pulled Sam into a tight hug.

“It’s alright to live for yourself sometimes,” he said.

Sam pressed his face to his chest, “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you don’t have to be _needed_ to be _wanted.”_

He closed his eyes, “You sound like a fortune cookie.”

Charlie ran his fingers through his hair, “Well you certainly make me _feel_ like a fortunate man.”


	12. The Vault

Sam awoke with an awkward pain in his side from sleeping on top of Charlie’s arm all night. His other arm was wrapped snugly around Sam’s chest like a security blanket. The events of the night before were foggy in his mind.

It was daylight now, but just barely. He could make out a figure standing in the doorway.

“You two were supposed to be up at six.”

It was Chloe’s voice.

Her outline came into focus, but he couldn’t see her expression in the backlight of the door.

He rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm, “Mm… I forgot to set an alarm.”

Charlie roused behind him.

“Chloe…? Oh… shit. _Shit._ I can be up in five.”

“Just meet me in the car park whenever you boys are done,” she said and closed the door behind her.

Her voice was lacking its usual jovial charm. Sam chalked it up to the early hour.

He felt around for Charlie’s phone to check the time -- he’d have to hunt down his own later with the rest of his clothes. Almost seven. He grumbled and hoisted himself out of bed. Charlie followed shortly after. It didn’t seem like he was lucid enough to start a conversation. He just sleepily pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and was out the door in his promised five.

♢

Chloe seemed a little more relaxed when they caught up with her in the parking lot. She was wearing a red waterproof coat and attaching the canvas roof to the jeep. The clouds overhead loomed with the threat of rain.

“Morning, love,” Charlie yawned, grabbing one of her bags and slinging it into the back seat.

“Morning,” she quipped back, “You lads missed breakfast while it was hot. Voeng came and went by six thirty -- he’s still whining that we didn’t ask for explosives.”

She handed Sam a plastic pouch of soup and a separate one of noodles.

“How am I supposed to eat out of a bag?”

“You’re smart, love,” she thumped him on his shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

She climbed into the driver’s seat and Charlie called shotgun. Sam wasn’t awake enough to gripe about always having to ride in the back, so he took his soup and made peace with it. They rolled out of the hotel lot and started their journey back to the estate.

A quiet rain pattered onto the roof as they drove out of the city. Chloe and Charlie chatted quietly in the front seat. Sam tried combining his bag of noodles with the bag of soup and tilted it awkwardly into his mouth. He was sure he was doing this wrong, so he tried to scooch out of the rear-view mirror’s line of sight. Charlie was eating some bun thing that looked much easier to manage.

Sam tuned into their conversation once he was sufficiently frustrated with his breakfast.

“I’m still surprised they didn’t arrest you,” Chloe said, grabbing for a bite of Charlie’s bun and then placing it back into his hands.

“I can pull my punches when I need to. Had to knock Sam pretty hard for credibility, though.”

“Please, you barely touched me,” he protested from the back seat.

“Mate, I don’t know if you checked the mirror before you left this morning but--”

He hadn’t. He peered into the rear-view from behind Chloe’s headrest. He did indeed have a nasty bruise spanning from the bridge of his nose out to the far corner of his left eye socket.

_“Shit.”_

Chloe laughed, “It’s almost like a standard look for you at this point.”

He thumped the back of her headrest.

“Sorry,” said Charlie, “I promise I was aiming for somewhere less conspicuous. It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“It’s fine, Charlie. How’s your jaw?”

“Bit stiff, but that’s the thrill of a good fight, right?”

“Haha, right.”

Sam’s face hurt like hell, actually. But somehow, Charlie slugging him in a show-fight was far less wounding to his pride than any time Rafe had ever laid a finger on him. The thought almost made him laugh. At least Charlie hadn’t broken his nose.

“So let me see the earrings,” he said, tying off his leftover soup and tossing it into the seat beside him.

“They’re in the glovebox -- Charlie?”

Charlie dug out a small black container. It looked like the kind you’d get at a jewellery shop, but discreet and unmarked. He popped it open to examine their bounty.

“Let me see--”

“Hang on, I’m having a look first.”

“Why didn’t you look last night?”

“Because I was _busy_ getting manhandled by security.”

“Should’ve looked when you got back to the hotel--”

“Boys! Do _not_ make me turn this car around.”

Charlie groaned and passed the box back to Sam. The earrings seemed so small and plain for the trouble they went through to get them. Two dark blue stones cut into faceted teardrops. The stones were mounted onto finely moulded gold studs. He lifted the box to his ear to listen for the hum.

It was faint, almost imperceptible -- but it was there.

He passed the box back to Charlie, who was eager to take a closer look. He listened in for himself.

“God, it’s quiet, but you’d think a buzz like this would drive you mad right up by your ear.”

“Just fanning the flame with all that radiation poisoning, I suppose,” said Chloe.

Charlie tried tacking one of the earrings onto Chloe’s ear and she pushed him away with a free hand. They started laughing and chattering away in their usual manner.

There was no point in hypothesizing about what they’d find in the vault or why when they were so close to unlocking it for themselves -- so the two of them carried on about soccer instead.

The rain picked up as the scenery around them transitioned from wooden houses and fields to walls of trees and shrubbery. Sam felt himself starting to doze off. He tried to shake himself awake -- he wasn’t in the mood for any more memories in the form of dreams. He still felt shit tired. Then, he remembered _Candy Crush_ existed and marvelled for a moment at the wonders of the twenty-first century before pulling out his phone.

One unread text message from an unknown number sat waiting for him in his notifications.

He tapped open the conversation.

The little speech bubble on the right indicated a message sent from his phone at 10:43 p.m. last night, reading _“Sam”_ with a little heart emoji. Beneath it, the unread message received this morning at 6:27 a.m.

It read: _please tell me you don’t have anything to do with this._

Shit.

Crystal must have texted herself while he was in the bathroom, desperately trying to get rid of his wire and earpiece before their clothes came off and she could find them for herself.

He turned the screen off and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Maybe the twenty-first century sucked, actually.

It bothered him that she’d just assume he was guilty.

He was, of course. But it still felt shitty.

He couldn’t reply to her. He couldn’t give her anything to work with. He felt something nauseous and tight in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t like he expected the lift to go completely unnoticed, but he would’ve preferred not knowing that it upset her personally. What did a pair of earrings matter, anyway?

For a moment, he entertained the thought of her bugging his phone. Was she tracking him right now? No, he was only in the bathroom for maybe three minutes, and she had been completely clueless about the heist. Normal people didn’t bug phones. Not everyone was as paranoid and controlling as Rafe.

She was just being… the way she always _had_ been.

Well, Crystal could be upset if she wanted, but as far as he was concerned it was no harm no foul. They would be in and out without a hitch.

♢

By the time they reached the estate, the gentle patter had progressed into a steady downfall. It was manageable, but annoying. Charlie stood under the awning over the front portico as Sam and Chloe unloaded the trunk.

“Can’t believe Charlie can take a fist to the jaw but he can’t handle a little rain,” Sam laughed.

Chloe shrugged passively and continued unboxing their climbing gear.

“What?”

She bit her cheek and handed him a set of pitons and a rope. Something in her expression was reminiscent of the way Nadine looked at him. Irritated.

“You and your brother really are cut from the same stone.”

“Wh--? What does Nathan have to do with anything?”

She closed up the trunk and made her way up the front steps.

Okay. So, Chloe was mad about something. Crystal was also mad, but she was _always_ mad at him when they were younger. Charlie smiled at him as he joined them at the front entrance -- so at least it wasn’t three for three.

“You ready?” he asked.

He finished attaching the rope and carabiner to his belt, “Yeah -- yeah, let’s get this done.”

The front door was more difficult to move this time. The moisture from the rain weighed down the wood and it made an awful noise as they pushed it open. The front hall was flooded completely. Pieces of debris floated by in the shallow pool that formed above the cracked tiling. Rain pattered down from the hole in the ceiling.

“Don’t know why I thought it’d be any dryer inside,” Charlie sneered.

“Look at that,” chimed Chloe. She pointed up to the banisters that lined the second floor. A family of macaques were perched along the railings like gargoyles. She fished out her phone and snapped a photo.

“See, even the monkeys don’t like getting wet,” said Charlie.

“The downstairs entrance is blocked off -- do you think they’ll bother us if we go up the stairs?” Sam asked.

“If they do, you can be our decoy,” said Chloe, tucking away her phone, “Come on, China -- lead the way, now.”

The macaques watched them with only mild interest as they made their way to the master chamber. The last time Sam had been here, all he could imagine was the life that occupied this house before the murder and how sad the absence of it was. But it was somehow calming to see the new life that had reclaimed it. The greenery flourishing between cracked floorboards, ochre roots creeping in through the roof, the new residents of the manor overseeing the strange guests that came to raid it. Even a skeleton of a house could be a home.

The reading room was exactly as they had left it. Charlie’s rope remained anchored to the window mullions and trailed down into their improvised entrance. The rain coming in through the ceiling pooled near the hole in the floor and descended into the passageway beneath like a waterfall. Chloe hopped down unceremoniously, ignoring the rope. Sam followed suit, but Charlie took his time lowering himself into the hallway. Probably worried about his bad leg.

They clicked on their flashlights and followed the stairs down into the shrine room.

“It’s interesting,” said Chloe, examining the altar table, “This room was definitely used for _puja_ \-- ritual worship -- but I wonder what Lavaud’s goal was with it.”

She shined her light on Hanuman’s carving, “It could have been purely devotional, but _Meredith_ was the one obsessed with Hanuman, wasn’t she? Neither France nor Cambodia had a large Hindu presence at the time, so it seems… strange that Lavaud would bother with any of this.”

“Maybe they built this room together,” Sam offered, leaning against the far wall, “Meredith and Lavaud. You know, before he killed her.”

“If it was their passion project, maybe Josephine was the one who killed Meredith,” laughed Charlie, “We already know she’s a fan of sharp objects and murder. Maybe she got jealous.”

“You think they boned?” Sam made a rude gesture with his hands.

Charlie laughed again, “I dunno, two like minds piecing together a cosmic mystery? Sounds quite romantic to me.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “Well, I can think of one way to get some answers and that’s by getting this door open.”

She pulled out the black jewellery box from her belt pack and snapped it open. She lifted one of the earrings up, “Charlie, would you like to do the honour with me?”

“Hey,” said Sam, feeling suddenly prickled, “We appreciate your insight and assistance, but this was mine and Charlie’s thing first place.”

“I never said it wasn’t.”

“Then why are _you_ the one that gets to open the vault!”

“It’s just a _door,_ Sam,” she bit, “You’ll get your thirty percent regardless, so can you cool it, or are you just gonna blow us off like you did last night?”

“I got _caught up_ \-- what, was I supposed to just leave Crystal soaking wet and crying?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Chloe’s laugh dripped in irony, “I wasn’t aware that you were concerned about other people’s feelings now!”

“Sorry, am I missing something?” Charlie asked, looking between the two of them.

Chloe crossed her arms over her chest emphatically.

“I dunno, Sam, is he?”

He held his tongue. Crystal? Was she mad that he spent the night with _Crystal?_ That was none of her fucking business, and it wasn’t Charlie’s either.

“No. He’s not,” Sam puffed a breath out through his nose, “Just open the door already.”

Chloe whipped her eyes back to Charlie, who seemed thoroughly lost.

“Here,” she said, shoving the earring into his hand.

They positioned themselves on either side of the vault door. Charlie glanced briefly in Sam’s direction with an apologetic pinch of his eyebrows. It made Sam uncomfortable.

“Alright, at the same time?”

They sank the earrings into the keyholes. The stones locked into place and the carved flowers sprung up, elevated on mechanical disks. They cranked the disks clockwise until the tumblers released and the carvings sank back in, flush against the wall.

The door was still at first. Something inside the wall made a thick _clunking_ noise -- the sound of a mechanism being released -- and then the door nudged back about an inch in a stiff motion, freeing a cloud of dust from the broken seal. The triangular slab churned downwards, disappearing into the floor on hidden rotors.

“I _love_ a dramatic entrance,” coughed Charlie.

Chloe shined her light down the opening. It looked like an unfinished mining tunnel, ribbed with wooden support beams and old oil lamps.

“God, is it too much to ask for a door to lead where you’re expecting it to for once?”

Sam pushed past them both, stepping into the low tunnel to peer into the darkness, “It’s gotta be further down.”

“I really don’t like the look of this,” said Chloe, following him in.

“Well, if it’s been here for a hundred years what are the chances of it collapsing on us now?”

“I’m not worried about a _collapse,”_ she shot back, “It feels like there’s something strange about this tunnel… _something spooky._ Don’t you feel it?”

“Sam’s a bit spiritually obtuse,” Charlie interjected, “But spooky or not, this tunnel’s got to lead somewhere -- you lads ready to find out where?”

Chloe led the way. Sam wondered if this is what Nathan felt on his many adventures, getting jerked around with just one more clue, one more doorway, one more mystery. It was frustrating, the peaks and valleys of thinking you’d finally discovered something or that you were so close to what you were searching for. But part of him loved it. The chase. The adventure. The company.

He walked closely side-by-side with Charlie. He wondered what would happen after all of this was over. Charlie would go on his vacation, and Sam would go home to his little apartment in Las Cruces. Maybe they’d work together again. He certainly considered him a friend at this point.

He’d miss Charlie making coffee for him in the mornings.

He felt an itch in his fingers. Like he wanted to reach out and hold Charlie’s hand. It was an embarrassing thought and he tried to bury it as quickly as it had sprung into his mind.

The tunnel emptied out into a small antechamber with a vaulted ceiling. Three branching hallways tunnelled further into the ground in opposing directions. Unlike the rest of the tunnel, these passages were finished in stone -- masonry similar to the construction of the shrine room. The one on the far right had seen some structural collapse, although it didn’t look recent. One of the support beams had fallen, bringing down large chunks of earth and stone with it, blocking access.

“Well, that leaves two options,” said Chloe, “We can split up and check them out -- if they don’t lead anywhere, I’ve got Voeng on standby for some demolition charges and we’ll try the third.”

“Sounds good,” said Charlie, “So who’s going where?”

“Sam you take point, Charlie and I will go left.”

“Again with this shit,” Sam laughed, “If you’ve got a problem with me, Chloe, you wanna come right out and say it?”

“Excuse me, but _you’re_ the one trying to pick a fight.”

“Guys--”

“Listen, Chloe, I _like_ working with you, but don’t think for one second that I don’t know when someone’s trying to cut me out of a job.”

_“Christ,_ do you even _hear_ yourself?” Chloe guffawed, “I may not have a perfect track record, but you’ve got to be some fucked up level of conceited if you think I’d screw over a partner on a _whim.”_

“Well, you let Nathan get _shot_ to cover your ass so just colour me skeptic when--”

_“Can the two of you shut it for a second?”_

Charlie was between them, extending his arms like a grade school teacher trying to stop two kids from roughing it out.

“Sam, you’re being an absolute _dickhead._ And Chloe. I dunno. Just stop prodding him.”

Chloe looked furious. But she took in a sharp breath, closed her eyes, and shook it out. It made Sam even angrier to see how quickly she could let go of an argument. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. The three of them stood quietly as he took his first few puffs.

_“Sam,”_ said Charlie, fixing him with tired eyes, “Maybe… an apology?”

“What?” he pointed with his cigarette, “To _her?”_

Maybe bringing up her time in Lazarevic’s employ was a bit far. But he hated apologizing.

“Fine. _Sorry._ Happy?”

“It’ll do,” Chloe remarked. She pulled her loose hairs back into her ponytail, “If it matters so much to you, _you_ go with Charlie down the left, and I’ll check out the hall in the middle.”

“Fine.”

She handed a walkie-talkie to Charlie and he clipped it to his belt.

“Radio me if anything?”

“You got it, love.”

She held Charlie’s gaze for longer than necessary, and it made Sam feel like she was plotting something. Then he just felt ashamed for thinking like that.

They went their separate ways.

Their hallway led another hundred feet deeper before opening up to a stairwell that spiralled downwards into the earth. It was alarming how convoluted the vault tunnel was -- what was the point of constructing all these passages?

Sam stepped out his cigarette and removed a torch from a sconce on the wall. He ignited it with his lighter. It was so much colder in this stone passageway than the rest of the estate. The torch may have been dimmer than his flashlight, but at least the flame could offer some meagre warmth.

“This just keeps going…” he murmured, stepping onto the staircase.

Charlie stood in place, watching him with a rueful expression.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked.

Sam turned and lifted the torch to Charlie’s face, “I’m fine, why?”

_“Sam,”_ he repeated, putting on the cheesiest, concerned pout.

“I’m _fine,_ Charlie. Chloe’s just… I don’t know, pushing my buttons.”

“Yeah, she’s really good at that when she wants to be,” he remarked, “And she’s been in some kind of mood since last night.”

So this _had_ to be because of Crystal. She must’ve seen him kiss her and assumed the worst.

Well.

She wouldn’t be wrong, but--

But he’d already told Chloe that Charlie and him weren’t exclusive; they weren’t a _thing,_ they were _friends,_ and Charlie was angry at the time anyway -- so what business did she have getting mad at him for it?

“Did she say anything about last night? After you guys left?”

“What, when you were with your friend? Not really, she said you two were catching up.”

“You’re not mad about that, are you?”

Charlie shook his head nonchalantly, “Don’t know why I would be. I mean, I feel bad about giving her such a big scare -- it’s one thing to intimidate thugs, it’s another when it’s a little lady whose night you’ve already ruined. She probably needed the emotional support.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed, “Yeah, she was pretty shaken. She was okay, though.”

“Good to hear it.”

The radio buzzed in. Chloe’s voice was staticy.

_“--and found a ladder so -- been climbing, and there’s a latch above--- don’t know what’s up there but -- locked. I think I can get it open, though.”_

“Can’t hear you too well, love,” Charlie radioed back, “Must be the depth. You let us know if you get that open. Sam and I found a staircase down, so we’ll keep going and radio if we find anything.”

_“-- that. I’ll keep you updated. Be sa--”_

The radio cut out.

“After you?”

♢

It was getting colder. Any rainwater was far behind them at this point, but the heat sapped from their bodies as their clothes began to dry. Sam was glad he brought the torch.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking down these steps, but he felt a growing concern that there wasn’t going to be anything at the bottom of them. Or worse yet, there’d be something painful. He’d pick Meredith’s bear traps over the gunpowder-rigged mummies of Libertalia any day, but Lavaud had access to more resources -- and if his time with Rafe taught him anything, it was that more resources meant more methods to fuck a person up. Maybe spikes or a giant boulder like in Indiana Jones. At least it would be exciting.

He was mildly surprised when all they found was an elevator.

“This thing goes _further down?”_ Charlie quipped.

Sam set down the torch and started forcing open the folding gate.

“Wait, wait -- You wanna go _down_ that thing?”

“Yeah? Why not?”

The metal squeaked uncomfortably beneath his hands. Charlie just gestured to the whole thing with his eyebrows raised, “I mean, _look at it._ This thing hasn’t been touched in a hundred years.”

It looked like the kind in old movies. The cab was narrow -- barely enough space for two people -- and it seemed to be a pre-electric, manually operated design. Sam shined his light on the crank, then over at the counterweights. Everything looked to be in working order.

“It looks fine to me. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“We _die?”_

Sam shrugged.

Charlie shook his head, exasperated. He unclipped the radio from his belt.

“Chloe?”

_“--alk to me.”_

“There’s an elevator leading further down. Sam and I are going to… _investigate.”_

_“--good. There’s nothing up-- but mining equip--. I’ll double back--- meet you at the bottom?”_

“Roger that.”

He clipped the radio back on. Sam was already climbing into the lift, torch in hand. He waited for Charlie.

“Hey, you’ll be alright.”

Charlie frowned. He joined Sam in the cab and shook the tension out of his fingers. Sam thumped him on the back, “You wanna hold my hand? For emotional support?”

“Shut up and close the gate.”

Sam pulled the gate shut and released the hand brake. The elevator lurched downwards an inch. Charlie closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He looked like he was willing himself into another plane of existence. Sam reached for the crank and released it.

The cab jerked and began its slow descent, the pulleys and cables squeaking their metal protests.

There was no indication of how many levels they’d passed, or if there were any levels to this structure at all. They could only watch the roughly cut stone glide by through the gate. Charlie tapped his foot anxiously.

“Why do you hate tight spaces so much?” Sam asked.

“What?” Charlie looked a bit sweaty.

“I don’t know if that’s personal--,”

“It’s not, but -- I dunno, it’s just a phobia, right? Why are you afraid of _spiders?”_

“Who said I was afraid of spiders?”

“It’s an example, Sam. If you _did_ hate spiders, could you say why?”

Sam shrugged, “They’re kind ugly, I guess.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it rational, right? It’s just -- I dunno, instinct?”

“Nathan’s afraid of clowns.”

Charlie opened his eyes again and barked out a laugh, _“Clowns?”_

Sam smiled, “Would love to hear about the instinct that inspires that.”

The elevator jerked to a halt.

There was nothing in front of them but stone.

“Did we get stuck?” Sam asked, trying to peer down the narrow gap between the gate and the wall.

Charlie’s breathing picked up again, “Did you touch the brake?”

“No I didn’t _touch the brake_ \-- I’m standing right next to you, you would’ve seen me touch the brake.”

The lift jolted down another inch.

He pried the gate open and dropped the torch down into the shaft. It tumbled downwards, knocking against the walls, and disappearing into the darkness.

They could hear the distinct sound of metal coming unbound.

_“Shit,_ okay--,”

Sam scanned around the cab. There was a maintenance hatch on the roof.

“Okay, uh… Charlie, my arm’s still shot -- give me a boost?”

“You’re gonna leave me in here?”

“I’m not _leaving_ you in here, just help me get this open and I’ll pull you up.”

Charlie clipped his flashlight onto his shirt and wiped his hands on his jeans. He looked like he wanted to throw up. He blinked away the panic in his eyes and locked his fingers together, offering them to Sam to boost himself up.

He climbed on and Charlie hoisted him upwards, grabbing his leg to keep him stable. The slide bolt on the hatch was jammed. Fucking thing was rusted. He unholstered his sidearm and bashed the latch off with the butt of the gun. It clanked on the ground below.

“Boost me higher.”

Charlie grunted and hoisted Sam up onto his shoulder. He pushed off and used the force to swing open the hatch, pulling himself onto the roof. The lift creaked with the sudden force.

“You okay down there?”

_“Yeah,_ yeah -- just, figure something out _please.”_

Sam looked around.

The sound of twisted metal snapping.

His vision blacked out in pain for a split second. He felt something spatter onto his neck and shoulder.

_“Sam?”_

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” he gripped the side of his head, “The cables are starting to snap -- got my fucking ear.”

“Christ, did it-- did it take it _off??”_

They jolted downwards again and Sam braced himself from falling over.

“We’ll worry about it later-- hang on, okay?”

_“Hang on to what?”_

Sam pulled a piton off his belt and started hammering it into the wall with his gun.

_“What are you doing, Sam?? You said you’d help me up.”_

“There’s not gonna _be_ an up in a second--,”

_Snap._

Louder than the first.

Cable unwinding. The strained creak of metal.

Another snap --

The cab jolted downwards several feet before catching. Sam’s piton tore a jagged line down the face of the wall like a grievous flesh wound and he slammed to his knees trying to catch himself.

_“Oh, fuck bollocks shit piss Christ--”_

The safety brake was suspending them in the shaft. He could hear the clamps that stopped their fall grinding against the roller guides. They wouldn’t hold for much longer.

“Hang on, Charlie, hang on--,”

He drove the piton in deeper and secured his rope to it, looping the end back through a carabiner on his belt holster. The cab shuddered as he made his way back to the hatch. He trailed the rope in one hand and offered his other to Charlie.

“Grab on.”

Charlie grasped his hand, bracing against his arm before kicking off the ground. 

“Shit, you’re _really heavy--”_

“Don’t fucking drop me, Sam.”

Sam gripped him with his free arm, keeping the rope clasped between their hands. The strain on his bad shoulder was blinding.

“I… I don’t think I can pull you up like this--,”

“Christ, hang on, hang on,”

Charlie slammed his feet against the side of the carriage and pushed off. One of the clamps snapped off with the sudden force and the lift scraped down another foot. Charlie hoisted his upper body through the hatch. Sam gripped him with one hand under his arm, the other grabbing onto his back, pulling him up. The metal beneath his feet creaked and suddenly they were falling -- Charlie’s weight tugging them violently down, his body coming loose from the cab before slamming into Sam’s, the rope catching, pulled tight, sparks flying downwards along the corners of the shaft, screeching metal -- and then a deafening crash.

Charlie dangled from Sam’s arms; face pressed up against his stomach. They spun uncomfortably on the rope.

Charlie let out a laugh or maybe a sob. Sam winced, feeling the cartilage in his shoulder straining against his weight.

“Charlie, my arm--,”

Charlie gripped the rope and slid down, releasing Sam and bracing with his feet against the wall.

They caught their breath.

Sam coughed out a laugh.

“Guess-- guess they missed their last safety inspection, huh?”

Charlie blew out some shaky breaths that might have been laughter. He looked up at Sam above him on the rope. The flashlight clipped to his shirt was blinding and made it hard for Sam to see his face without squinting.

“Got my leg pretty bad. Stings.”

“Shit… you didn’t break it again, did you?”

“I don’t think so… but we can worry about it later, right?”

Sam nodded and braced his feet against the wall, “Yeah, I guess we can.”

They made their way down the rest of the shaft, another sixty feet or so. Sam felt a sticky patch of warmth pooling on his shoulder. He was very well acquainted with the sensation of blood.

They clunked down onto the heaping corpse of an elevator at the base. Charlie helped Sam lower himself through the shaft exit. They were in a small stone chamber with a wooden door and previously, an elevator gate. They took a moment to assess.

“Well, your ear’s still attached,” said Charlie, taking his flashlight back into his hand to check Sam’s injuries. He ghosted his fingers over a small gash on his neck, just behind his ear.

“Got you right behind here… _shit…_ looks like it nicked your earlobe.”

Sam touched his ear. He felt a small notch on the very edge. It hurt like hell -- a kind of pain that felt like venom through his skull.

“Doesn’t look too serious,” Charlie continued, “There’s a lot of blood, though. How’s your arm?”

Sam rotated his shoulder blade a few times. It felt achy -- and loose -- but it was still in its socket. He gave Charlie a reassuring nod, “It’s fine, just gotta watch it.”

He looked down at Charlie’s leg. The back of his jeans was shredded below his right knee.

“Hey, let me take a look at you.”

He knelt down to assess the damage. His calf looked like it scraped against the hatch as it fell. He ripped the material to get it off the wound -- Charlie hissed through his teeth.

“Hey, I _like_ these jeans--!”

“Trust me, there was no saving them -- does it hurt to stand?”

“No, just fucking stings.”

Sam uncapped the small canteen on his belt and dabbed water onto a torn piece of denim. He wiped at the dirt and blood on Charlie’s calf.

He almost kicked Sam in the face.

_“CHRIST_ \-- I just _said_ it stings!!”

“I’m just -- I’m just trying to make sure it’s not super fucked up. Could you just sit down for a second?”

Charlie shuffled over and sat on an awkward chunk of debris. Sam pulled a roll of bandages out of a pouch on his belt and bound the material around Charlie’s leg. He wasn’t good at dressing wounds, but at least this would keep it clean until they got back to the surface.

“Well. It’s not _broken._ So at least your sister can’t get mad at you this time, right?”

Charlie laughed, wiping the sweat off his face, “The day’s still young.”

Sam offered his good hand to help Charlie back onto his feet.

They smiled at each other, and there was a softness in Charlie’s eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something. Sam swallowed hard.

“Um.. about last night,” Charlie began.

“Charlie, I don’t think right now is--,”

“No, no, I just wanted to say,” he paused, looking away, like he was searching for the words, “That… we don’t have to talk about it. If you don’t want to, that is.”

“Oh.”

“It can wait, is what I mean. I feel like… we’ve got a lot to talk about, you and me, and we’ve been so caught up in this job, and… you’ve obviously got a lot on your mind… so I don’t mind waiting, is all.”

Sam bit his lip. This was… interesting.

“Do you still wanna… _you know_ … in the meantime?”

Charlie flushed, “Uh, I mean, I won’t say no. If _you_ want to, that is.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s been… nice.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He felt relieved. Confused, but relieved. This wasn’t a conversation he’d ever had with someone before. He’d have to think about what it meant. But he supposed that’s just what Charlie was giving him the time to do.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Yeah, of course.”

He wasn’t sure what to do next, so he kissed Charlie quickly on the lips. He tasted mildly of altoids and blood, but he supposed the latter was from his own wound. If Charlie noticed, he didn’t say anything -- he just touched his face and ran a thumb over his stubble.

“God, you really are _something,_ aren’t you?”

“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”

He kissed him again. It felt like an indulgence but, to be fair, he was in a lot of pain and it was the least he deserved for himself.

He became aware of a faint humming.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, looking toward the door.

“You wanna check it out?”

They walked over. He gripped the handle -- and was pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. He breathed out a laugh, “Glad we didn’t need to steal some _other_ piece of jewellery to get this open.”

He pushed the door open with a creak.

It wasn’t a treasury, but it looked like a library, or a study. The walls were lined with dusty bookshelves and filing cabinets. Several wooden boards were mounted behind a desk, pinned with maps and diagrams. The desk itself was broad and heavy looking -- Sam wondered how they’d managed to get it into the room in the first place -- and covered with a chaotic spread of yellowing papers.

The humming was louder, but the room was devoid of any meteorite or crystal.

“Chloe, we’ve found a study -- oh, and the elevator’s out of commission,” Charlie spoke into his radio.

She didn’t respond.

Sam crossed over to the desk and lit up an old oil lamp. He thumbed through the papers in the halo of orange light.

“Chlo?” Charlie tried the radio again, “Can you hear me?”

_“--heard something. Don’t know--- went back-- you.”_

Her voice was very faint.

“I can barely make out what you’re saying.”

_“--said I heard something, I’m --- don’t know what---,”_

“I think you must’ve heard the elevator crash. The cable snapped but we got out alright. We’re in some kind of study right now.”

_“--not--- find out--- turning off--”_

Static.

“Chloe?”

The radio went dead. Charlie batted it against his palm a few times before giving up and clipping it back onto his belt, “I don’t think we’re gonna get a signal down here.”

“Charlie, come look at this.”

Sam urged him over. He flattened out a leatherbound folder and trailed his finger along the columns.

“It’s a sales ledger -- look here, one half-ton Exotic Blue Meteorite to _Monsieur Armand Sauveterre_ , twelve tons Exotic Blue Meteorite to _The Beauvilain Institute_ , six tons to _Madame Yvonne Fressinaud and Tuy Leang Private Collection.”_

“Lavaud was selling it off...”

“Look at the dates -- twelve entries, varying weights, all between December of 1905 and March of 1906.”

“That’s just before the murder,” Charlie glanced up to make eye contact, “If Lavaud’s plan was to _sell_ the Thinking Crystal, then why wait twelve years to start doing it? Meredith had to be long dead by this point -- and if he _wasn’t_ planning on selling, why wait to bring the lot of it back to Siberia?”

Sam flipped through the ledger, “I think Lavaud was in the red. It doesn’t look like he turned a profit any year after the opening of this quarry. Meredith must have been wrong in her calculations -- they really _didn’t_ find anything here.”

“So Lavaud kept up the operation until he bankrupted himself and was forced to sell what they’d already mined -- up until his wife killed him.”

“Something doesn’t feel right here--,” Sam shuffled through the pages, “These documents don’t account for the full weight…”

He flipped to the very end of the ledger. There, the yellowed corner of a folded note peeked out of a narrow cut in the binding. He used his pocket knife to gently free it.

Unfolded, it revealed itself to be a handwritten letter with a single bloody thumbprint smudged across the bottom.

“It’s in French, Charlie can you--,”

Charlie yanked the page from Sam’s fingers and examined it closely by the light of the oil lamp. His brows knitted together in concentration.

“It’s… a letter to someone named _Marcellus Brière._ I think… a contract? It’s defining the terms of sale of… several hundred tons of Rare Organic Minerals -- our Thinking Crystal, I would assume -- to a university collection. It’s quite informal, though, sounds like Lavaud was close friends with Brière… this last part here…”

He lifted the paper up and scanned the last few lines over and over.

“It says… um… in his words, _I thank you for the generous offer; my wife has fallen most ill these past years. We must keep our agreement in confidence, she will not allow for it otherwise. I will speak with our friend Edmund about having her transferred to a facility in England, where she might find the comfort of home.”_

“So… _Josephine_ kept him from selling the Crystals? She kept him mining this quarry?”

Charlie shrugged, “Well it would make sense why she’d kill him, then. She didn’t want this deal going through.”

“But what interest would she _have_ in a hunk of meteorite? In the exhibit, didn’t it say she was like an artist or something?”

“A sculptor."

The gears were turning.

“Sam, I don’t think Madame Lavaud was who she said she was.”

Sam lifted the oil lamp off the table, its warm light catching a dark smear on the very edge of the desk.

“No, I don’t think she was.”

He closed the ledger and followed the smear, Charlie following closely behind. Fine drops of blood trailed across the stone floor, undisturbed for over a century. They led him to a bookshelf on the far end of the room, where a faded handprint made itself known, swiped across a shelf. A carved figure of a monkey was tinged in blood, blackened over time.

Sam looked at Charlie. He nodded him on.

He grasped the monkey in his palm, feeling that it was _part_ of the bookshelf. He pulled it upwards and its stone base raised out of a niche in the wood before locking in place. A mechanism inside the bookshelf began to clunk and whirr, and the shelf lurched back and trundled into a recess in the wall.

The humming was so much louder now.

They stepped through the opening and into a dark, frigid hall. There were two sconces to either side of the door. Sam reached up to the one closest to him and ignited the burner with the oil lamp. The sconce lit up with a crackle and the flame sparked along a metal channel that ran up through the backplate and lined the walls of the chamber. Sconces all along the channel burst to fiery life, lighting up the entire room.

_“Holy shit,”_ Charlie mumbled.

Alcoves cut into the walls like a catacomb, their ledges filled to the brim with slabs of blue rock -- Meteorite, Thinking Crystal, _Rare Organic Minerals,_ whatever they wanted to call it -- crates upon crates, mining carts full, and in the centre of the chamber, a stone dais boasting the largest crystal of all.

The ragged form rose toward the ceiling, a sculpture of conjoined stone, shards that couldn’t have belonged together, arranged into the facsimile of a man -- or maybe, a God.

“Holy shit is right,” whispered Sam.

They walked down the steps from the study into the vault.

“Chloe, I don’t know if you can hear me,” Charlie spoke into the radio, “But I think we’ve found what we’re looking for.”

Sam made his way to the dais in the centre of the room.

“We’re gonna need a fair bit of equipment to clear this room,” Charlie continued, “There’s just… alcoves of meteorite, some of it’s already crated up. There’s… looks like a mining elevator on the far side of the room, don’t know if it’s in working order. Also, really creepy statue.”

Sam ran his fingers along the edge of the stone table. The surface was carved with the same map that had been haunting them since Scotland. The statue rose from the centre of the triangle, its base decorated with familiarly deformed animal bones. They rose in an arrangement along the foot of the statue like a fire burning around a stake. The statue resonated its dreadful hum like a song.

Resting on the eastern point of the triangle were two bones distinct from the rest. Thin, wreathed in a dark stain -- he lifted one up to examine the metal band that adorned it. A wedding ring.

_“Shit,”_ he spat, tossing it back to the table.

“What? What is it?” Charlie jogged over from one of the alcoves. Sam pointed him to the two fingers that lay atop one another, like a lover's promise.

“The stains in the study… she… _she cut their fingers off.”_

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, “What the _fuck.”_

Charlie gazed up at the statue. An envelope rested in the palm of its hand. He pulled it down and cut the paper open with his knife.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

Charlie’s eyes flicked along the desperate, shaky penmanship. He handed it to Sam, “It’s in English.”

_There is no one whom I can trust._

_If only My Love had the faith to keep digging, surely, we would be rewarded with passage through His Gate. There is a plague upon this earth, a sickness of the mind and soul. I could not allow the parting of His Crystal after the years of my devotion; I could not allow the perversion of our salvation._

_So, I have sent them to Him the only way I know how, and I will meet My Love in the Cosmos._

_I will see my family in Paradise, and I shall be alone no more._

Sam folded up the note and passed it back to Charlie.

“Meredith never disappeared,” he murmured.

“The hidden bunker, the traps, the cipher… She was paranoid, she didn’t want anyone else to discover the Crystal. So, she… changed her identity, she worked with Lavaud…”

“And they fell in love,” Sam finished, “They fell in love and she killed them all.”

Charlie glanced around the room. The absurdity of the vault’s tunnel system, the fanaticism of her carvings, her devotions.

“None of this was Lavaud,” he said, “He funded this entire mad venture because he loved his wife. He never believed _any_ of this.”

Sam laughed, “I guess love makes you do crazy things, huh?”

Charlie smiled at him.

He felt something give beneath his foot.

Something clunked and they heard the sound of cogs and mechanisms again.

“Did you touch something?” Charlie asked

“No? I… Did _you?”_

“Did you step on something??”

“I don’t know, I just thought it was a loose stone, I--,”

Up on the steps to the study, the door slid back into place.

“No, no, no no no--,” Charlie rushed over, gripping at the edges of the stone slab that fastened itself over the exit, “Fuck-- _fuck,_ I can’t get it open.”

Sam was stuck in place watching Charlie pry at the door. He could still hear the sound of tumblers working somewhere above him. He glanced up at the ceiling at a metal grate just above the statue. Beneath the hum of the crystals, there was the sound of movement, of water rushing--

The grate erupted in a sudden downpour, icy water dumping into the room from the channel above.

_“Shit!”_

They were both yelling. Charlie jumped down the steps and ran over to the mining elevator, yanking at the gates.

“Sam? _Sam what the fuck are you doing?”_ he shouted.

“I’m-- I’m getting what we _came_ for!” He yelled, shoving fistfuls of meteorite into his pockets from an open mining cart.

“Sam, forget the fucking crystals and help me get this open!”

“But--,”

“Your brother’s a fucking scuba diver, we can _come back_ for it.”

He cursed under his breath and dumped the rocks onto the ground, splashing his way over to the elevator gates. They grabbed hold of either side and pulled with as much force as they could muster. The metal wouldn’t even budge.

Charlie let out a grunt from exertion, and then bashed the gates with his fist. They were solidly rusted into place from years of neglect.

The water was up to their hips.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ \-- what the _fuck_ do we do now?”

Sam tried to catch his breath, scanning around the room.

“I… I don’t know.”

If only they’d brought the demolition charges.

“Sam, if we die here--,”

“We’re _not_ gonna die.”

The water rose to their shoulders and they paddled to stay afloat.

“The ceiling grate -- it’s metal, right?” Sam choked out, “It’s like a vent cover -- maybe we can get it loose?”

“You mean the same vent that’s in the process of _drowning_ us?”

“The water’s gotta be getting in from somewhere, right?”

Charlie shook his head, “You want to try swimming _up?”_ he spluttered.

Sam swam towards the centre of the room, climbing onto the tip of the statue.

“Give me your rope,” he called.

Charlie did as requested, and Sam attached a hook to the end of it. He spun it around and hooked one of the metal struts on the grate as the remainder of the statue submerged. He tried yanking it downwards. He could feel the metal give, but without something to stand on there wasn’t enough leverage to pull it free.

“I can’t get it open swimming like this,” he coughed.

“Give it to me,” said Charlie, grabbing the rope out of his hand. There was about a foot of air left between them and the ceiling. Charlie took a deep breath and rolled backwards, pulling the rope down with him, pushing his legs against the ceiling. The grate strained with the force. He gave it another violent tug and the metal snapped off, tumbling, drifting to the floor beneath them.

Sam had his cheek pressed up against the ceiling as Charlie resurfaced. He pulled in his last few breaths, “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

One last big breath and their air was gone.

Sam went first.

He forced himself up the channel, fighting against the current and the pressure. It was a painful struggle upwards, every muscle in his body working overtime. The adrenalin would have been thrilling if the burning pressure inside his lungs wasn’t tearing through his insides like a claw piercing into his chest.

There was no light at the end of this tunnel.

All he could do was trust that it would take them somewhere.

All he could do was push forward.

He breached the surface, coughing, blinded by rain bludgeoning down overhead.

His first few breaths burned, and he struggled to keep the rain out of his mouth.

Charlie surfaced a few seconds later, gasping, pulling in ragged breaths.

“Are you okay?” Sam coughed. He could barely see three feet in front of him, but they must have surfaced in the quarry lake.

“Sam… Sam, my leg.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” he coughed, “come on Charlie, grab onto me, okay?”

Charlie coughed and paddled over weakly, hooking his elbow around Sam’s neck.

“I’ve got you, okay?”

He swam forward, praying for the safety of the shore, eyes blinded by the onslaught of rain.

He felt ground beneath the tips of his shoes and he tumbled forward, Charlie releasing his shoulders and collapsing beside him as they pulled themselves onto the shore.

He panted, coughing, sucking in the damp, muddy air. He really needed to quit smoking.

He flipped onto his back, a tired smile on his lips -- a joke to lighten the mood on the tip of his tongue -- but his laughter was cut short by a figure he didn’t recognize.

Several figures -- clad in camo and armed to the nines.

Before he could think to ask who they were, the man before him struck his head and everything went black.


	13. No One to Blame

Evie kept her voice quiet.

He could barely hear her above the low drone of unmanned jazz playing on the car radio at this late hour. Charlie answered in an equally hushed tone. Sam watched the flash of streetlights fill the car with their amber rhythm.

Charlie had insisted on riding in the backseat with him, to keep an eye on his injuries. It was annoying -- being fussed over like this. It was cramped and his entire body hurt, but now that he’d drifted in and out of sleep a few times, the only thought that crossed his mind was how comfortable Charlie’s thigh was as a pillow.

He became aware of Charlie’s fingers next. That he had threaded them through his hair. He felt the gentle tug as he brushed them through in a slow, meditative motion.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him like this. He might’ve protested if he had the energy, but even the thought of speaking left him feeling drained.

It didn’t look like Charlie knew he was awake. He kept his eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror as he carried on his conversation with Evie.

Sam wondered what they could be talking about before drifting off once more.

♢

It was ironic, really.

He’d gotten some of the best sleep of his short life one summer in a holding cell in Boston. It was cool, private -- and the ‘bed’ wasn’t much different from the cots at the shelter.

This tiny room in Siem Reap was admittedly less cozy, but there was some small comfort in the familiarity of this routine. It wasn’t like being left behind in Panama. Nathan had no reason to believe he was dead this time. He knew where he was. Elena knew. Victor knew. Chloe knew, wherever she was.

The memory of waiting and waiting for a rescue that never came prickled at the back of his mind. He tried to let it go, rolling onto his back and gazing up at the ceiling. There was no way to tell time in here, but from the number of meals he’d received he’d guess maybe around forty-eight hours had passed.

After their narrow escape he’d woken up, handcuffed, in the back of a truck. Charlie was sat across from him -- a weary expression in his eyes -- and a man in uniform sat to his side. Sheltered from the rain, he could recognise the uniform as government. Probably police, or military.

“Where’s Chloe?” he croaked.

“Dunno.”

The officer to his side watched them guardedly. Judging by the look in his eyes, Sam doubted he understood them.

“Who’re these guys?”

“Dunno that either.”

“So… jail, then?”

The officer jabbed him forcefully in the ribs with his baton and that was the end of that conversation.

They were brought to a police station on the outskirts of the city, where they were processed to some degree (no one spoke English, and Sam knew maybe three phrases in Khmer) before being split up and put into two separate holding cells. After about an hour, a nurse came in to bandage his neck and that was the last thing of great significance to happen.

Sam wondered how Charlie was faring. The cell wasn’t that small, but he… worried. He decided he’d probably be okay so long as he’d gotten the same medical attention.

This was just a little hiccup.

If anything, he was confident they’d be out soon and laughing about it over drinks. They would figure out how to retrieve the remainder of Meredith’s collection from its watery grave. They’d contact one of their buyers or a fence and celebrate with a well-earned vacation. Maybe Charlie wouldn’t be opposed to some extra company in Barbados.

It might’ve been twenty minutes later -- it might’ve been two hours -- when a stern looking guard with a moustache cracked open the door. He urged Sam onto his feet and ushered him out the door. No handcuffs meant he was probably in the clear.

He followed the guard into the bustling noise of the front office. Across the reception desk, he could see Charlie had already been given a change of clothes. He was seated in the waiting area with his arms crossed. Chloe was in front of him, with her back to Sam -- they looked like they were talking.

“Chloe, Charlie--!”

Chloe turned; she had the pendant of her necklace held up to her teeth, gnawing anxiously. Charlie kept his eyes fixed past the both of them, like he hadn’t heard Sam speak at all.

Sam took a step towards them and stopped when the woman standing next to Chloe turned and made her way towards him with a vengeance.

“Cryst--,”

She slapped him with a force that could’ve rivalled Sister Catherine’s.

It struck him right across the still tender bruise on his cheek. He touched a hand to his face, wincing.

“You son of a _bitch.”_

“Hey,” he laughed, “Let’s leave my mother outta--,”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” she hit him again, her small fists thumping against his chest, “Piece of shit _mother fucker_ , I wish you had fucking _died_ down there--,”

She kept hitting him. A barrage of clumsy blows to his chest.

_“I wish you’d died thirty years ago and never came back.”_

She dropped her fists, but she still trembled, unable to stop the tears from spilling over. Her outcry had hushed the chatter in the room, but no one moved to intervene. Chloe continued chewing away and Charlie’s face rested in the same flat expression. Sam looked back to Crystal.

She stood there, heaving, trying to compose herself but being choked out by her own tears. Under the pale fluorescent lighting she looked so much older than she did a few nights ago. He could see the passage of time etched in the lines around her eyes and lips, the glimmer of silver hairs that he hadn’t noticed as he kissed her in the dim lighting of her apartment.

She was just as old as he was.

“Crystal…,” he started, “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to--,”

“Oh save me your bullshit, Samuel,” she spat, “Chloe told me everything.”

Sam glanced at Chloe. She averted her eyes like she wasn’t half responsible for this mess.

Sam lowered his voice, “Then you know this wasn’t anything personal.”

“Personal? Nothing _personal?”_ she laughed, “Is that what you told yourself when I let you into my _home?_ When you were _fucking_ me?”

“Hey,” he raised a hand, trying to get her to stop yelling, “Hey, we did what we did ‘cause _you_ wanted to bring up the past--,”

“Do not _fucking_ make this out like it’s my fault,” she sucked in a breath and flexed her fingers like she was getting ready to hit him again, “I thought you _changed,_ Sam. But you’re still the same shitty, insensitive, lying _thief_ you’ve always been.”

He felt the same stitch of anger in his system that he’d felt when they fought as teenagers, _“You don’t fucking know what I’ve been through, Crys.”_

“I know I don’t _care,”_ she scoffed, taking a step forward, “Do you think you’re the only person with problems, Sam?”

“Oh, I’d love to hear about all your pretty middle-class problems again, babe.”

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Crystal bit out an icy laugh, “You just… cut and cut and cut until there’s nothing left, don’t you? Do you have _any i_ dea how hard I’ve worked to be where I am right now, Sam? What _my_ life has been like? Not everyone can just fuck off with their morals and ruin people’s lives for a living.”

“Hey, I did not do _any_ of this to fuck with you--,”

“Well, it was pretty fucking _convenient_ of you to show up halfway across the world, just in time to ruin the event that _I_ spent months planning and fundraising for. To steal an artefact that belongs to _my_ country.”

“This isn’t fucking about you, Crystal! It’s business. It’s just business.”

“It was business to ruin dozens of national heritage exhibits? To have your--,” she gestured shakily to Charlie, tears starting to spill over, “Your _friend... assault_ me?”

It did sound insane.

“I swear, Crys, I didn’t know you were gonna be there. I didn’t know you were involved in any way.”

Crystal shook her head, wiping away a tear with the heel of her palm, “And when you saw me, you didn’t stop to think -- _for an instant_ \-- that maybe you should reconsider?”

He didn’t.

“Sam, you don’t know how to think about anyone but yourself. You never have.”

“That’s not true, Nathan--,”

“I don’t _care_ about _Nathan,_ Sam,” she cried, her voice pitching up shrilly, “I lost tenure at the University because of this. There’s a forum to discuss removing me from the Board of Culture next week. They think _I_ had a hand in your little operation. Do you have _any idea_ how that makes me look?”

He felt his anger finally abate into guilt.

“You don’t know the first thing about my country or my history, but you decided you could just waltz right on in and take whatever you wanted -- including _me.”_

He wasn’t sure what to say.

What _could_ he say?

“You can’t see past your own fucked up sense of greed and entitlement to realize that your actions have consequences,” she looked him up and down, the tension in her shoulders dropping into a sadness, “I was just… so happy that you were alright. That I could get… get _closure_ on something that fucked me up so badly when I was a kid… But you lied to me. You’ve never stopped lying. You never _will_ \-- and I’m so fucking stupid for not realizing that the minute you walked in.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, “I don’t care.”

She wiped away the last of her tears and gathered the loose strings of her hair to tie back. Her eyes were tinged red and her whole face was puffy, but she looked defiant, “I never want to see you again.”

“Crystal--,”

“I’m giving you until the end of the week to get out of here and if I ever see you step foot in this country again, I will have you tried for Illicit Trafficking of Cultural Property.”

♢

The ride back to the hotel was awkward, a heavy silence weighing down on the car. Chloe drove, Charlie rode shotgun and Sam was lying down in the backseat with his hands behind his head and his feet propped up on the door.

“You know,” he said, staring up at the canvas top overhead, “It’s not… _really_ cultural property, right?”

“Sam can you please shut up,” Chloe rejoined.

He sat up, “What? A meteor fell from the sky, and then it got _imported_ here -- I mean if we wanted to get _really_ technical, it’s kind of... _Scottish_ property, right?”

Chloe ignored him.

Sam looked to Charlie for some back up, but he kept to himself, staring out the window.

He laid back down and kicked his feet rhythmically on the door.

♢

When they finally rolled up to the hotel, Chloe put the jeep in park and rested her head on the steering wheel.

“You alright, love?” Charlie asked quietly.

“Just a headache. You go on ahead.”

“Alright, I won’t be long.”

Charlie got out of the car and started heading for their hotel room. Sam rushed along behind him, “You two going somewhere?” he asked.

Charlie just sighed and slid the keycard into the lock. Sam followed him in and closed the door behind them; leaning back against the wall as he watched Charlie dig out his duffel from the closet.

“Charlie?”

He set it out on the bed and started moving his folded stacks of clothes out from the hotel drawers. Sam came around to watch him, feeling an agitation working its way along his spine.

“Charlie, she said we’ve got a week to leave, what’s the rush?”

He reached his hand out to still Charlie in his packing and he flinched away.

_ “Don’t --  _ touch me. Please.”

Sam felt the anger that had settled on the drive over rush back through him anew, “Then tell me what the fuck you’re doing.”

“I’m going  _ home, _ Sam.”

“We haven’t even booked a flight yet.”

“I’ll buy a ticket at the airport.”

Charlie kept stuffing his bags. He made his way to the bathroom next, Sam following behind.

“Charlie, if this is about Crystal -- it wasn’t anything serious, okay? We used to date and -- and I was just making sure she was alright, and you were pissed at me anyway, and _ she _ came onto  _ me--,” _

“Sam, I really need you to stop talking right now,” Charlie snapped, shoving his toothpaste into a toiletry bag.

“Why? You’re the one who’s been pushing to ‘talk’ this whole time. You wanna talk to me? Here I am, talk to me.”

Charlie shook his head and took his bag out to the bedroom.

“Hey look, I’m sorry if you were offended by -- _me and her --_ but it’s not like I was ever planning on seeing her again, so you can cut the silent treatment now, okay?”

Charlie placed the toiletry bag on top of his clothes and started fishing his notebooks out of the desk drawers. 

“Fine,” Sam barked, “Then I’ll get my bags too.”

“No, you won’t, Sam -- I’m going home and I’m not extending an invitation for you to follow.”

“Well what the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

“I don’t  _ care  _ what you do, but you’re  _ not  _ coming with me.”

“I still have shit at your apartment!”

“Then I will mail it to you.”

They stood on opposite sides of the bed, making eye contact for the first time since the truck back to the police station. Whatever Charlie was thinking, whatever Charlie was feeling -- Sam felt blind to it by the growing anger, the growing _ sickness _ in his stomach.

He reached for Charlie’s bag and started dumping out everything he’d packed. Charlie grabbed his wrist with a force that felt completely foreign between them. Sam could feel in the strength of his grip that he could snap his bones if he wanted to.

But he let him go, and Sam pulled his wrist back to his chest.

Charlie upturned the bag and started repacking.

“So that’s it, then?” he said, “After everything you’re just gonna pack up and leave because you’re jealous?”

Charlie threw a shoe onto the ground, “Christ, you really  _ don’t  _ know when to quit, do you?”

Sam stood and watched him.

“I don’t  _ care  _ that you slept with her, mate! You can sleep with whoever you want, alright?”

“Then why are you acting like this, Charlie? It’s not like I ever fucking  _ said  _ we were exclusive, okay? You came to that conclusion on your own.”

“I didn’t come to any conclusion, Sam--! How could I when the  _ instant  _ I try to figure out what you want from me, what you’re thinking, even, you just…  _ self-destruct.  _ I’ve been in the fucking dark here, Sam. _ ” _

“Why does it matter what I want? Why do you have to pick this apart?”

“Because I don’t fucking  _ get  _ you, Sam,” Charlie’s breath shook as he spoke, “One minute you’re treating me like a criminal, the next you’re climbing into bed with me -- I don’t know _ what _ kind of relationship I was supposed to glean from the way you’ve been acting for this entire job.”

“You said yourself that we didn’t have to talk about this.”

“Yeah,” Charlie laughed, throwing another shirt into his duffel, “Yeah, that was back when I thought you were done lying to me.”

Sam felt like he was seeing red again, _ “When have I fucking lied to you, Charlie?” _

“Sam, are you really going to stand there and act like you’ve been forthright with me for even  _ half  _ the time I’ve known you?” He looked at him, a sadness ebbing into his eyes, “For a person so concerned with not trusting other people, you don’t waste time giving them any reason to trust  _ you.” _

“You don’t know what the people in my life have been like,” Sam said with a defiance, “You don’t get to judge me for watching my own back.”

“You’re right -- I don’t know anything about… Crystal, or Frank, or-- or  _ Rafe, _ or-- It  _ doesn’t matter.  _ I don’t know  _ anything  _ about you, Sam, because you won’t  _ tell me -- _ and anything you  _ do  _ tell me, I don’t know whether or not to believe. I don’t know what to trust.”

Charlie zipped up his duffel and heaved a tired sigh, “And it’s not just me, either. What you did to Crystal -- how could you do something like that, Sam?”

“What was I  _ supposed _ to do? Call the whole job off so some girl wouldn’t get her _ feelings _ hurt?” 

“I’m not talking about stealing the earrings, Sam. Now don’t think I’m not ready to accept the blame for what we did to her event, to her career -- but how could you  _ use her _ the way we did and then turn around and _ sleep _ with her? How could you manipulate her like that?”

“I did  _ not  _ manipulate her--,”

“Then what do you call it, Sam?”

He felt cornered.

“I didn’t think she’d find out.”

Charlie looked at him with a small frown. He picked up the bag and slung it around his shoulder, “I guess that’s just it then, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“You  _ didn’t  _ think -- about anyone but yourself.”

Sam was ready to start yelling again, but Charlie raised his hand defensively, “Look. I _liked_ you, Sam. I really, _really_ liked you. But I can’t keep giving you chance after chance -- I feel like at every opportunity you’re just trying to see how full you can stuff your pockets. You just… take and take and take -- you took Crystal’s hospitality, her trust… and then you took _mine_ , right after.” Charlie closed his eyes, “I don’t know if you were using me to assuage your own guilt or if there was something genuine there, but after putting all the pieces you’ve left me together -- I don’t know if you’re _capable_ of thinking about anyone else.”

This wasn’t fair. He cared about a lot of people. He cared about Charlie. He'd let himself trust him over the past few weeks and now he realized it was a stupid fucking call on his part. Of course it would end like this.

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said, finally muting his anger down to a simmer, “I’m sorry I’m too fucked up for your perfect standards of romance.”

Charlie shook his head and started heading for the door.

“I’m sorry that I’m not as… bright-eyed as Nathan,” Sam continued, his eyes fixed on the ground as Charlie undid the locks, “Or as charming as Chloe. Sorry I’m not made for your picket fence fantasy, that I--”

Was there anything left to salvage?

“That I can’t measure up to your bitch of a fiancée.”

Sam heard the sound of Charlie’s duffel dropping to the ground.

“Alright.”

Charlie’s heavy footsteps crossing the room. Sam flinched as he grabbed his arm to turn him around.

“You want to talk about Cecilia? Let’s talk about Cecilia.”

Oh.

“Come on, Sam, why don’t you tell me  _ exactly  _ what you think happened? I would love to know your interpretation of a relationship I had  _ eighteen years ago.” _

He had to admit to himself now, face to face with Charlie’s cold, blue stare, that he felt vulnerable. That he just wanted something to strike back with, to hurt as much as he was hurting. 

“I… don’t know.”

“No, Sam, you  _ must  _ know  _ something  _ since you’re such a confident judge of her character.”

He thought back to the conversation he had on the plane.

“Chloe said… she left because… she didn’t want you to ruin her reputation.”

“That so?”

Sam felt a knot twist in his stomach.

“I’m sorry, Charlie -- I just. People like  _ that  _ don’t  _ get  _ people like  _ us.  _ It just pisses me off that she thought she was too good for you.”

Charlie cracked a smile, but it didn’t feel reassuring in the slightest, “Ah, well, you see, Sam -- you don’t have to worry about any of that because  _ none  _ of that is true.”

“Listen, Chloe said that--,”

“I know what Chloe told you, I know because of what  _ I’ve  _ told her -- which isn’t much. See, there’s one more person you just can’t stop deceiving -- and that’s yourself. It’s like you can’t bear the thought of being wrong so you just decide what everyone else is thinking and feeling -- you’ve got your own sense of reality in that pretty head of yours, and once you’ve decided what you want to believe there’s no changing your mind.

“You did it to your brother two years ago when you dragged him out of retirement. You did it with Elena when you decided she hated you. God knows you’ve done it to me -- and now you’re even doing it to people you’ve never even met.”

Sam pressed his mouth into a hard line. Part of him wanted to fight back -- like he’d always done with his back to a corner. He remembered Nadine’s star hair clip and her half smoked cigarette, and all he felt was a deep and uneasy shame.

“You want to know why Cecilia left me?” Charlie asked, “She left me because she was afraid.”

Sam looked away uncomfortably. 

“I started in this line of work after I’d already proposed to her, and you and I both know that what we do isn’t for everyone. But I needed a lot of money to keep my family safe -- and you know, I’m big enough to admit that I  _ liked  _ what I did. That it was the only thing I felt really good at. But I  _ loved _ Cece, and I wasn’t going to lie to her about it.

And she had good reason to be afraid after that. I broke a man’s kneecaps to pay off the damage to my parents’ store -- and when I told her, she said, ‘if you’re capable of doing that to a stranger -- how can I know you’ll never do that to me?’--”

“But you  _ wouldn’t--,” _

“It doesn’t matter that I  _ wouldn’t,  _ Sam. What matters is that I _ could. _ She was twenty-five and a hundred pounds soaking wet, she had every right to be afraid of me -- to be afraid of people who might hurt her  _ because of me.  _

“But that was the decision I made. For myself. For my family. And I wasn’t going to keep her hostage.  _ I loved her, _ Sam -- but I respected her too. And I accepted that I had to let her go.”

Sam felt that emptiness again. A yearning hollowness of his own design. 

“I’m sorry, I just… I thought…” he kept his eyes on anything but Charlie, “I thought she hurt you.”

“Well she didn’t,” he snapped, “and you know, all this time I was so concerned about hurting other people -- that I never stopped to consider the people who were hurting me.”

“Charlie, I didn’t mean to--,”

“It doesn’t matter, Sam. So if you’re done lashing out… I don’t want to keep Chloe waiting.”

Sam nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

They stood there silently, barely three feet apart, Sam completely unable to bring his gaze up from the ground. Charlie sighed. He picked his bag up off the floor and left without another word.

So that was it then.

Just another person walking out and Sam couldn’t even blame him.

He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a heavy exhale. This was always going to happen. He made his way to the bathroom and turned on the tap to splash water on his face. 

He watched the water swirling down the drain.

It was always his fault, wasn’t it?

He looked up at his reflection.

It was his fault.

There were no baseball bats in this hotel room but his fists would do just fine.


	14. Sam Morgan

_“--that Josephine Lavaud wasn’t who she said she was. We had some of our top specialists at the university working on decrypting Alen-Buckley’s journals and we have confirmed that the two women were in fact the same person.”_

_“It’s astonishing -- the mysterious disappearance of Meredith Alen-Buckley finally solved after over a century. Is it true that she has living descendants in the United Kingdom today?”_

_“That’s correct. The great grandchildren of her half-sister have been contacted and her original journals have been returned to them.”_

_“And what about your findings in the Lavaud Estate Vault?”_

_“With backing from the Siem Reap Board of Culture, we were able to drain the quarry and repair the old mining elevators. Almost her entire collection was recovered and is being held at Angkor University, with the exception of a few personal carved pieces that are on display at the Museum of Cultural & Colonial Artefacts.”_

_“Is it true that the meteorite is highly unstable?”_

_“It’s true that the meteorite is radioactive. Its exact composition is something we’re still studying at the university. Our scientists are currently working on isolating what we think could be a previously undiscovered element -- and we have reason to believe that, once isolated, we might even be able to utilize it in the treatment of cancers, similar to the current usage of radium.”_

_“And what about the mythology surrounding your findings? We’ve heard stories of a Hindu Shrine and a Gate to Heaven.”_

_“Well… Alen-Buckley’s belief was definitely influenced by her deteriorating health, along with the folklore in Omsk, in Siberia. The idea that lakes of Okunevo were created by a meteor impact seems to be proven true by her research -- but whether or not there’s a fifth, secret lake? Well, we’ll just have to see what our findings turn up.”_

_“Is the possibility that she was right about a triple event being investigated?”_

_“It is. The samples from Siberia and Scotland have been confirmed to be a match in composition. We’re currently collaborating with the University of Edinburgh to further study the crash site in the Hebrides.”_

_“And what about the site here in Cambodia? Continued mining hasn’t turned up anything so far, has it?”_

_“Alen-Buckley’s calculations were limited by her own paranoia and secrecy. She was a geologist, not a mathematician, so it stands to reason her calculations weren’t precise. But with the researchers we have working on this project, we’ve found… she might not have been far off.”_

_“Does that mean we might yet discover the truth to her theories?”_

_“Well, I guess we’ll just have to see.”_

♢

Sam tossed his phone onto the hotel bed and rolled over. It was probably meant as a nice gesture, he guessed, for Chloe to pass the video along. He was never going to see Crystal again, but maybe she thought he’d feel better knowing he hadn’t ruined her life _completely._

He looked at his phone again. Crystal looked nice with her new haircut and her tidy skirt and blouse. He wanted to feel happy for her, fixing the damage that he’d done -- even if he was annoyed at seeing Voeng’s smug little face sitting on the couch next to her -- but instead he felt hollow and vaguely jealous.

Missing out on a big discovery stung. For all the work they’d put in, it would’ve been nice to see it through to the end. He didn’t care for the credit or the acclaim, but the rush of being the first person to lay eyes on something forgotten by time, to piece together a mystery in waiting -- it was a feeling like no other.

He needed a cigarette.

He slid open the door to the balcony and leaned over the railing. It was pretty. The lights of the casino reflected back at him from the surface of the lake. He lit up and savoured the taste of tobacco mixed with the cool mountain air.

After Charlie left, he’d just… gone home.

Well, he sutured up his knuckle and repaid the hotel for the mirror first -- _then_ it was just a long, lonely flight home.

His cactus hadn’t made it, after all, after three long months without water and sunlight (he’d completely forgotten to leave the blinds open) and coming back to his barren apartment had him feeling depressed and somehow ashamed. He’d just had thirty years worth of wounds reopened and he didn’t even have a couch to sit on.

He’d never had to buy his own furniture in the past. Places either came with it, or he’d been in and out so quickly he hadn’t needed permanent fixtures. He’d been poor and nomadic all his life, but now that he could afford an apartment -- what did he have to show for it? A mattress on the floor, a TV he didn’t watch, and three plastic crates filled with what little shit he’d held onto over the years.

It made him feel insane. He was so bored and agitated he could barely sleep. He contemplated taking off, starting some other job, but he didn’t have any leads of his own -- and the idea of working with another person had him wanting to peel his own skin off.

It was barely two weeks of pacing around his apartment and getting takeout from practically every taqueria in the city before he’d had enough of his own company. He took his bike and a duffel bag out east towards the mountains and checked into a casino hotel in Ruidoso. The hectic noise of people he didn’t know was a welcome distraction -- and the casino never closed so at least he’d have something to do when he couldn’t sleep.

He’d been here for almost two months and he was probably at least five or six grand in the hole between the room and his losses. It wasn’t like he was really expecting to win big, he just needed something to do. Roulette, blackjack, floating in the hotel pool. He’d contemplated asking one of the bartenders up to his room a few times, but ultimately, he didn’t feel up to being asked about his various gunshot wounds.

He ashed his cigarette on the railing.

But even the whirr of slot machines and the racket of strangers gambling away their retirement faded into white noise after a while, and he was left with the same itching frustration that drove him out of his apartment.

He was bored. And angry.

Maybe he was lonely.

Whatever the proper _nomenclature_ was for his emotions, it all just filtered through the same buzzing irritation in his system.

Victor had been in Mozambique since May. Nathan and Elena were probably busy filming and juggling baby duty. He and Chloe had only exchanged a few unenlightening text messages. And of course, he hadn’t heard from Charlie since Siem Reap.

He flicked his cigarette off the balcony and hoisted one leg over the railing. He was only six floors up and ordinarily these kinds of railings were a walk in the park, but his left hand strained as he climbed downwards. His stitches had healed but he was pretty sure he’d cut a tendon in his knuckle because he still couldn’t grip with the last two digits.

He commended himself on not falling to his death when he reached the ground. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he figured he could just drive around until he got tired enough to pass out. Maybe he’d ride up to the mountain peak or get a burger down at the ale house. Or maybe he’d just stand face to face with the elk grazing at the median in front of his bike.

He sighed.

“Big fucker, aren’t ya?”

The elk raised its head at the sound.

Massive, actually. Nothing like the tiny does prancing in the woods behind his house when he was eight.

It must’ve decided he wasn’t a threat, because it lowered its head back to the ground and continued grazing.

“Come on, buddy… let me get to my bike.”

Of course, this meant nothing to the elk, so it ignored him.

He felt agitation begin to prickle at his scalp again. There was a whole fucking mountain for this oversized goat to graze on and it chooses the three square feet of grass in front of his motorbike?

“Come on, fuck off,” he waved his arms in a sweeping motion.

The elk looked at him again. Its ears twitching and its bulbous black eyes observing his charade.

“That’s right you dumb fuckin’ goat, make like everything good in my life and -- _oh shit--,”_

In the back of his mind, he definitely knew you weren’t supposed to taunt wild animals and, as the elks antlers made contact with his torso, he chastised himself in the split second before he hit the ground. He saw a flash of white as his head knocked against the asphalt -- not hard enough for another concussion hopefully, but he’d definitely be feeling it in the morning.

He blinked a few times and tried to pull air back into his lungs before he sat up and felt around his stomach. He was glad he’d been wearing a coat or he might’ve been stitching himself up again.

The elk stood about six feet away, stoic in its stillness, watching him wriggle around on the ground.

When it was satisfied, or maybe just… bored (he wasn’t an animal behaviourist after all), it walked back to its patch of grass and started grazing again like nothing had happened.

Sam watched it for a moment before lying back down.

“I guess you’re right,” he mumbled, “I don’t… really have someplace I need to be.”

The elk grazed.

“Sorry.”

Sam checked to make sure none of his ribs were broken.

“For calling you a goat, I mean.”

The elk grazed.

Sam closed his eyes. What the hell was he doing, anyway? Why was he angry? What was the point? Why was he yelling at an _elk?_ It’s not like getting gored alive was going to fix his problems. Jesus, what was _wrong_ with him?

His brain felt like a plate of spaghetti and all his anger, his frustration, the desire to break things into a thousand pieces -- started melting away into the tarmac; leaving him with nothing but a dull sadness.

And an overwhelming sense of _shame._

He felt the shame of being fourteen, sitting in a police station with a broken wrist and a face full of tiny cuts from shattered glass. The shame of being eighteen and having Crystal’s roommate pick up the phone and tell him she didn’t want to see him again. Of being thirty-two and trading a pack of cigarettes for a handjob, just to feel someone else’s touch.

The shame of letting Rafe wrap him around his finger just to feel needed.

Of Charlie walking out on him.

Of lying in a casino parking lot, bested by an animal that didn’t deserve his anger.

He felt an overwhelming desire to go _home._ But what did that even mean to him anymore? It wasn’t his shitty apartment in Las Cruces. It wasn’t a polished mansion in Southern Texas. It wasn’t Boston or Panama or a fucking casino hotel room. He felt his body tremor and he sucked in another breath to still himself. He wanted to see Nathan. More than anything in the world.

Maybe that was something to be ashamed of, too -- needing his baby brother. But his whole body hurt, and he hadn’t had a coherent thought in the past three months, so what was one more thing to add to the list?

When he finally sat up, the elk had moved on to the next bit of median.

Sam got up and walked back to the casino to get his bags.

He used the elevator this time.

♢

If he’d been twenty-five, he could’ve made the seventeen hour drive to New Orleans in one go. But he wasn’t twenty-five and he had to stop just outside of Dallas. He took a nap in a shower stall at the rest stop, just like the good ol’ days, and paid a buck fifty for shitty vending machine coffee when he woke up. He felt too antsy to eat anything, but food was something he could worry about later.

He was on Nathan’s doorstep by 8:30.

It took him an extra ten minutes to work up the courage to knock, which felt… stupid. But the urge to get back on his bike and just drive all the way back to New Mexico was a strong one.

Nathan answered the door.

He looked frazzled, but happy to see him.

“Sam!”

He slung an arm around him in a hug.

“Good to see you too, little brother,” Sam mumbled into his hair.

“I didn’t know you were gonna stop by -- we just… I already packed up dinner for the night, we would’ve waited for you --,” Nathan patted him on the back and slipped out of his arms to take a look at his face, “What… what are you doing here?”

“I just, uh--,” he didn’t really know, himself, “I was in the neighbourhood.”

Nathan looked like his brain was stalling. He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present moment, “Come in, come in -- let me get your bag--,”

“I can carry my own bag, Nathan. Thank you.”

Nathan stepped aside and let Sam slide past him, his duffel hoisted over one shoulder. It looked heavy.

“Are you planning on staying a while?”

“I dunno yet.”

Nathan watched as Sam shuffled into the living room and dropped his bag on the floor by the couch. Sam looked around at the scattering of toys across the floor and the pile of dishes in the sink.

“Listen, if it’s trouble… I can just get a hotel--,”

“No, no, we--,”

“Nathan who is that?” Elena’s voice called, followed by a pattering of socks down the stairs.

She rounded the corner into the living room with her hair wrapped up in a towel, “Sam!”

And suddenly he was choking through his second embrace of the night. Not that he was complaining.

“Hey,” he coughed out.

“Hey, yourself,” Elena released him, but kept his shoulder in a tight grip, “What’re you doing here? Did you two plan this?” she glanced at Nathan who shook his head with a shrug.

“I was just telling Nathan that I was passing through and I, uh, thought I’d pay my favourite niece a little visit.”

“Well, you just missed her, I put her to bed not thirty minutes ago.”

“Oh, in that case I’ll just be going--,”

“Wait, wait,” Elena caught him by the bottom of his jacket, “Get yourself onto the couch, I’ll heat up some leftovers.”

Sam offered a sheepish smile and settled down. Elena got to work heating up some baked mac n cheese while Nathan fished out two bottles of beer from the fridge before joining Sam on the couch.

“Not gonna grace me with your company?” Sam asked as Elena set down a plate and fork on the coffee table.

“Not tonight, unfortunately. I am halfway through tweezing my eyebrows and I have a 6 am call with an Icelandic client to look forward to tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll miss you,” he called as Elena made her way back upstairs.

“Don’t stay up too late, you two. And no parties!”

An awkward silence settled over the couch after they heard the click of the bedroom door. Nathan broke it by popping off his beer cap.

He took a sip.

“I’m, uh, glad to see you. I was getting kind of worried when you stopped texting. It’s been, what, three months? -- since I heard from you?”

Sam shook his head and shrugged, “You seemed busy and I… I guess I was busy too.”

Suddenly Sam was beginning to regret this whole grand gesture. Maybe he should’ve stayed at the casino. He kept his eyes fixed on the mac n cheese on the table.

“Chloe told me things went south in Cambodia,” Nathan spoke.

“What’d she tell you?”

“Uh, that the ‘fuzz’ got involved. She said you got out okay, but your job was pretty much in the can.”

“That all she said?”

“Uh, yeah? It was back in April, so I dunno,” there was a growing tension in Nathan’s voice, but it was hard to tell whether it was worry or frustration, “Why? Sam, are you alright?”

Sam wasn’t sure what he thought this interaction was going to be like. Actually, he wasn’t sure if he’d thought about anything past giving Nathan a hug. He felt embarrassed and disappointed. Of course Nathan would want to know why he’d been a complete out-of-contact asshole for three months.

But what was he supposed to say? That he’d gotten dumped, technically twice in one day, and he was so hopped up on self-loathing that he’d pissed away half a year’s rent on cards and dice?

“I’m fine.”

_“Sam.”_

“Nathan, I’m fine. Really.”

They’d never talked about their relationships before. At least not Sam’s relationships. They’d talked plenty about all the girls Nathan wrote about in his journals growing up, but Sam kept the gritty details of his own partners to himself. He was their provider, their protector, and he didn’t like the idea of his little brother knowing about all that mess. He especially didn’t want him knowing about a mess that involved one of his _friends._

Nathan sighed heavily and took a long drink of his beer, “You know, Sam, I’m -- I’m _forty_ now. You don’t have to pretend you’re alright for my sake.”

“Who says I’m pretending?” Sam laughed.

Nathan didn’t join him.

He looked tired. Logically, he was probably worn out from chasing after his toddler all day, but that little bug of self-loathing was burrowed deep in Sam’s brain and it chittered away that Nathan was sick of _him._ After only ten minutes.

“Uh, Nate?”

“Hmm?”

Sam felt shame in his stomach, like a poison.

“Do you remember… when Mom would get in those _moods?”_

Nathan didn’t look like he was following, “Uh… elaborate?”

Sam set down his beer, “You know, sometimes she’d just get… real antsy, and she’d stay up all night, and she’d take us shopping and buy up half the store -- the time at Macy’s?? And then she and Dad would get in yelling matches when he found out?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I remember the thing at Macy’s. Dad made her return everything and she got so mad she went to stay with Grandma for a month.”

“Yeah, well… I’ve just been… feeling…,” Sam tensed his fingers, grasping for the right word, “Prickly? I guess? Like I need a cigarette, but a cigarette won’t fix it.”

Nathan watched Sam bounce his leg up and down, “...and you didn’t feel like being around anybody.”

Sam shook his head, “I didn’t even want to be around _myself._ So, I dunno. I was at a casino for a while. I won a lot and then I lost a lot. I convinced a bellhop that I was an Italian playwright. Stole someone’s keys from the valet and drove a Romero around town for a night.”

“Did you bring it back??”

Sam frowned, “Seeing as I’m not in prison, yet again, _yes I did._ I dunno I was just that same kind of stupid antsy the whole time, and then the fucking _deer_ hit me--,”

“Woah woah woah, what deer?”

“Don’t interrupt -- and I’m lying there, like, _what the fuck?_ What am I doing? Why haven’t I slept in three months?” Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “and I feel like a fucking moron.”

Nathan nodded along, saying nothing.

“And I just--,” Sam groaned, “I just… needed a place to stay.”

Nathan got up wordlessly and opened the cabinet beneath the bookshelf. He pulled out a pillow and two sets of blankets. Sam felt a tightness in his throat.

“Just a few nights. I don’t want to be an imposition.”

“Sam, I told you -- you are _never_ an imposition. And if you get to be one, you can just… take over diaper duty and we’ll call it even.”

Sam laughed at that, accepting the blankets.

“And listen, you don’t have to tell me about what happened in Cambodia -- you don’t need a reason for being here -- but, uh,” Nathan pressed his mouth into a tired smile, “Thank you for telling me the truth. About how you’re feeling, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

Nathan stood there with his small smile and his fists resting on his hips. Sam pulled at a stray fibre on the blanket awkwardly.

“So,” Nathan cleared his throat, “You wanna tell me about that deer?”

♢

His first night at his brother’s, Sam slept for close to twenty hours. He vaguely remembered being roused as Nathan and Elena went about their morning routines, but he didn’t stir again until he heard Nathan cooking dinner. Cassie was apparently upstairs all day, watching Peppa Pig on the bedroom TV so as not to disturb her uncle.

“I’m making pork chops,” Nathan said as he sat up.

“Okay,” Sam felt sweaty and uncomfortable, “You can just have my helping. I’m not really hungry.”

He felt guilty. Embarrassed. Exhausted.

He excused himself to smoke on the back porch.

‘A few nights’ turned into a week. He tried to grapple with his discomfort and started eating with the rest of the family by the second week. He slept a lot. He watched a lot of TV. He played with Cassie.

She was his little buddy. She was too young to know what a piece of shit he was, and her vocabulary was limited to which cartoons she wanted to watch and which colour crayon he should pass her next. By the first month, he had earned the title of professional Cassie-Wrangler. Her parents seemed relieved to have a little more time for themselves, and the bags under Nathan’s eyes might have even lightened a shade.

He thought about Charlie.

He slept more, ate less. He overheard Elena saying he looked ‘gaunt’ one night in a conversation that was definitely not meant for his ears. He played Words With Friends with Victor and Chloe.

By the second month, Nathan asked if he’d like to come with them to film in Guam. He said he’d stay behind to watch Cassie.

He thought about being seventeen and kissing Brandon Horrowitz, and then about breaking his nose when they fought six months later. He thought about Rafe.

Nathan and Elena spent a lot of time on the back porch, under the string lights with the citronella candles lit. They’d sit and talk for hours and he could hear the joy in their laughter. He could see how much they loved each other in the way they smiled at the dinner table, the way Nathan would hug Elena from behind whenever she did the dishes, the post-it notes they left for each other. He could see their love every time he looked at Cassie.

He thought about Frank and Father Duffy in the police station. He thought about sitting in his Mom’s lap, watching Peter Pan.

He was happy for Nathan.

Of course he was happy for Nathan.

He deserved all the good things he had in his life. All the good things he’d earned for himself, without Sam’s help. Maybe it was just another testament to his own shitty nature that he wasn’t as happy for his brother as he wanted to be.

He was watching Nathan live a life he knew he could never have -- something he didn’t even know if he wanted. Jealousy came to mind, but jealousy wasn’t the word. He pictured that nameless, aching hole in his chest. How long had it been there? How long had he convinced himself that he wasn’t hollow?

By the third month, Nathan had stopped his gentle prying. He had never been very overt, but Sam had felt the tinge of concern every time he’d asked how he was feeling. Dinner conversations were quieter. Cassie had moved on from Peppa Pig to Dora the Explorer.

It was the first weekend in November when Elena joined Sam on the back porch. One of Nathan’s friends from the diving company was having a bachelor party, and after much coercion he agreed to go and to _try_ to have fun. So, it was just Sam and Elena in the house, with Cassie put to bed early in the evening.

Sam was sitting on the steps to the garden with a cold beer and his third cigarette. Elena slid the door open. She stepped out and closed it again, keeping her hands tucked coquettishly behind her back.

“Hi,” she said with a smile.

Sam glanced up at her from his spot on the ground, “...Hi.”

“Just you and me tonight.”

“...Yep.”

She kept her tiny smile in place, leaning against the door.

“Mind if I join you?”

Sam gestured to the steps, “I mean, it’s your house.”

She glided over and took a seat on the step above him. She hadn’t brought a beer of her own and the empty handedness sparked an anxiety in him. This woman was teeming with _we-need-to-talk_ energy.

“How’re you doing?”

“Um… Fine, I guess. Something on your mind?”

Her smile faded into something a little more pensive. She bit her lip.

“So... you’ve been here for… quite a while now.”

_Christ._

“Listen, I’m not tryna… _disrupt_ your family life here, if I’m a problem I can just… fuck right off, at the drop of a hat.”

“Woah, woah,” Elena laughed, shaking her head, “Zero to sixty, Sam. Can we put it in reverse for a second?”

He snubbed out his cigarette in his ashtray, “Sorry, I know I’m taking up couch space and I’m always forgetting to sort out the recycling--,”

_“Sam.”_

She pleaded gently with her eyes. He quieted up.

“What I was _going to say,_ is that you’ve been here a lot longer than I thought _you_ would’ve been comfortable with.”

Sam looked away. Elena peered over his shoulder.

“You haven’t seemed like yourself. Cooped up inside,” she spoke softly, in a tone of voice he thought had been reserved for late night conversations with her husband, “I was under the impression that you weren’t quite done with your adventures yet.”

“Never said I was,” he kept his tone even, “I’m just… taking a break. Catching up on some TV. You know there’s like, forty seasons of Law & Order?”

When she didn’t respond, Sam chanced a look over his shoulder. She was fiddling with her bracelet, her brow creased -- a sad look in her eyes.

“Chloe told me about what happened with you and Charlie.”

Sam was up and halfway across the yard before his mind could tell what his body was doing. He felt like he wanted to rip the skin off his back. He wanted to jump the fence. He wanted to vomit.

_“What the fuck,”_ he choked out.

“Sam--,”

“What the fuck, what the _fuck.”_

He must’ve been seeing double, because it looked like two Elenas were walking towards him, merging into one as she reached her hands out, _“Hey, hey, breathe--,”_

He took a step back.

“Does Nathan know?”

“What?”

“I said, does Nathan know.”

“No,” she shook her head, “No, I didn’t tell him.”

“Okay,” he ran a shaky hand over his face, “Okay. Okay.”

Elena kept her hands to herself. He was grateful she could read that cue at least.

“How long have you known?”

“Just about a week or two.”

He shook his head. He felt hurt. Ashamed.

_Vulnerable._

“Why?”

Elena exhaled tightly, “I was worried about you; Nate and I -- we’re _both_ worried. I talked to Chloe and she’s worried about you too.”

“How much did she tell you?”

She considered this, “She told me about Crystal.”

_“Jesus--,”_

He turned and made his way towards the bench swing out in the yard. He stumbled on shaky legs and took a seat. Elena shuffled back to the porch quickly to grab his beer. She sat down next to him and took a sip before offering the bottle back to him.

“You know, I had a really hard time when Nate and I first broke up.”

Sam groaned.

“I was so mad at him, and I was so…,” she scrunched her nose, “So _sad?_ But when I wallow I just get _crazy._ For the first two months I just... went back and re-edited the entire first season of my show. Locked myself in my studio, barely ate, barely spoke to anyone. I was convinced that if I was being productive, that I wasn’t really heartbroken.”

“I’m not heartbroken.”

Elena looked doubtful.

“I’m _not._ We weren’t even--,” he lowered his voice, “We weren’t _anything.”_

“Then why have you been so depressed these past six months?”

Depressed?

“I’m not depressed.”

“Sam.”

“I’m _not_ depressed!”

_“Sam.”_

“I’m not! I’m just--,” he grasped for the word with an empty hand, “I’m just frustrated.”

“Do you want to talk about _why_ you’re frustrated?”

“No.”

She frowned.

“It’s like pulling teeth -- getting you and Nate to talk about your feelings, huh?”

“Yeah, well,” he raised his beer in a mock toast, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the fucked-up tree.”

“You’re not fucked up.”

“Elena.”

_“Sam.”_

“Look, why do you even care, huh? Charlie’s problem is with _me_ , not with Nathan -- and I already said I could get out of your hair if I’m really bothering you.”

“You still think I hate you, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Because of the thing with Alcazar and Libertalia.”

Sam said nothing.

“I’ll admit I didn’t _like_ you... in the brief period of time between learning that you existed and getting on Sullivan’s plane to go save your asses. But I also didn’t _know_ you. But I do now, and I know that you love your brother, and that he loves _you._ And that I love you, too,” she tapped his knee with a gentle finger, “You’re family.”

Sam felt a heaviness in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t the same ache he’d felt before, but something almost grounding, like he was tethered to the moment in a way he hadn’t been for the past few months.

“I’m frustrated because I fucked up.”

“With Charlie?” her voice was soft.

“I don’t know, I just… I don’t _like_ being close to people. I don’t like people knowing shit about me. People don’t stick around, or if they do they’re just doing it to fuck me over. So I don’t like… feeling _exposed.”_

“So, it’s a trust thing?”

“I guess? I just… haven’t had much with that shit in the past, you know? You trust people -- you get let down. It happened with our Dad, it happened with Rafe -- shit, Nathan trusted _me_ and _I_ let him down.”

“So... you trusted Charlie?”

“I didn’t -- that’s the thing…,” he drifted off, “But I should have. I had every reason to, but it’s like… the _second_ there’s something good in my life, I don’t know what happens. It’s like I do everything I can to ruin it. I don’t know how to stop.”

Elena pulled her legs up onto the swing and rested her cheek on her knee, “It sounds like you’re afraid of getting hurt.”

Sam laughed and took a sip of his beer, “I’m scared of getting hurt so I do everything in my power to hurt everyone else? Sounds great.”

“It’s not… abnormal, given the circumstances. It’s not healthy, but it’s not as unusual as you might think.”

“It’s the same kind of shit our Dad would’ve pulled and it drives me crazy knowing I’m just as much of an asshole as him.”

“If I’m remembering correctly, your Dad left the two of you behind. _You_ brought Nathan up like he was your own kid.”

He didn’t have anything to add.

“Listen, have you tried talking to Charlie?”

“No,” he shook his head, “No, he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“It’s been six months.”

“He was very clear.”

“You could apologize.”

“I tried to. I mean, I think I tried? I’m not like you and Chloe, I don’t know how to talk to people.”

He offered her the rest of his beer and lit up another cigarette once his hands were free.

“Listen, I’m okay with it -- _really._ I’ve known for a long time that I’m never gonna have the kind of relationship that you and Nathan have. I’m better off on my own.”

Elena polished off what was left in the bottle and set it on the ground. She leaned back in the swing; her legs still tucked close to her chest.

“Have you thought of… maybe seeing a therapist?”

Sam choked out a laugh, “So you think I’m a basketcase?”

“I don’t think you’re a basketcase,” she said, “You know… Nathan started seeing Dr Novack right after I got pregnant. I think it’s really helped him.”

Sam _didn’t_ know that. For a moment he felt betrayed that Nathan hadn’t shared that with him -- then he just felt guilty that he had done such a shit job raising him that he felt like he _needed_ a therapist.

“Hey,” Elena reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder, “The two of you have had a really rough life from the very start. It wasn’t fair and it couldn’t have been easy. And… after you _‘died’_ \-- Nate still had Sully watching out for him, and then he had me. But you--,”

Sam flinched.

“You’ve never stopped running, have you?”

“There you two are!”

Nathan was out on the porch, lit up by the kitchen light. He looked a little dishevelled and he’d acquired quite a number of colourful bead necklaces.

“I thought I was going crazy when I got home and all the lights were off. What’re you doing out here?”

Elena circled an arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulled him close, cheek to cheek, “Just having some brother-sister bonding time.”

Even from across the yard, Sam could see his brother’s face lit up with a smile, “Well, if you’d like to bring the good vibes inside -- I brought back some cake.”

Elena laughed and hopped to her feet.

Sam felt a certain warmth spread through him. She really was a peach.

He followed her inside and slid the glass door closed behind him. Nathan was already busying himself cutting up slices and putting them on plates. He handed Sam a corner piece.

“Hey, uh, Nathan--,” he began.

“What’s up?” his brother licked the icing from his thumb.

He felt awkward, trying to summon the words on his mind.

“Do you, uh… do you think I look like Dad?”

He was met by a blank stare.

“Honestly?” Nathan passed him a fork, “It’s been so long -- I… I don’t really remember _what_ he looked like. So, I guess… I guess you just look like Sam to me.”

Sam laughed.

“Thanks.”


	15. A Warm Home

He sat facing his father, in a cold plastic chair in a police station in 1985; his wrist wrapped snugly in a brace.

_“Why would you do something like this, Samuel?”_

He felt tears, streaking hot down his cheeks, soaking the collar of his shirt.

_“Are you angry? Did someone do something to you? Please just talk to me, Starbuck.”_

He wanted to reach out and be held, but he was too ashamed to ask. Too bitter, too angry. He kept his free hand in a tight little fist, his knuckles white and shaking from the strain.

It was grief, wasn’t it?

That emptiness that he’d been too afraid to name.

Grief for all the things he’d lost. Not just lives, but relationships, safety, security. Grief for the person he could’ve been. For the person he didn’t know how to be.

_“Please don’t leave me.”_

Grief, for words he didn’t know how to say.

♢

_“Sam_ \-- I told you to stop eating those,” Elena’s voice was sharp, “They’re for the potato salad.”

“So I’ll boil another batch,” he said, finishing the egg in three bites.

Elena scoffed, though there was little malice behind it, “I’m gonna have to send Sully back to the store at this rate.”

“I’m sure you won’t get any complaints from him.”

Victor had only been here for a week and he’d made up reasons to visit the grocery store four times already. As if Sam wasn’t savvy to the ‘feisty brunette’ working the bakery section. She was _exactly_ Victor’s type.

A housewarming party sounded kind of dumb, in his opinion. Not that he’d ever been to one, but they’d already been living at the bungalow in the Keys for two months -- how much warmer could a house get?

Maybe he was just anxious at the thought of the house being filled with so many people for the weekend. Old friends -- most of whom he’d never met -- had been arriving on the Key and filling up the guest house since Wednesday.

They’d been talking about getting a bigger place ever since Elena had gotten pregnant, but they hadn’t made plans until an old friend of Victor’s asked if he was interested in an ‘investment opportunity’. He’d sent them photos and halfway through January they were making an impromptu move punctuated by a busy filming schedule. They’d only just started unboxing things in the past two weeks.

It was a nice place. Three properties across an acre of land. Apparently it had been used as a bed and breakfast before a hurricane had demolished a good chunk of the strip and driven away business. There was the main house, which Nathan and Elena had just finished unpacking, the former owner's residence, which they were in the process of converting to a studio -- and a small guest house, further inland from the shore. Sam had made that his haunt since the move.

It was certainly a step up from his lonely long-forgotten apartment. He wondered passively if the property manager had tossed his mattress and TV. He’d never been good at keeping track of his things, but it was nothing he’d miss. Here, he had a real bed and a set of drawers.

A lot had changed in the past few months.

As if the move between Louisiana and Florida wasn’t enough, Elena had finally worn him down on seeing a doctor.

He didn’t like doctors. He didn’t _trust_ them. But apparently Dr Selwyn (also known as ‘Dr Skips’) was an old friend of Elena’s, and she’d pulled more than her fair share of shrapnel out of wounds -- so he had to respect that, at the very least.

He could be frank with her and she seemed entertained by his prison stories. She recommended a specialist to see about fixing his fucked-up tendon and wrote him a prescription for a few different pills. To his disappointment, they weren’t the kind that got you high. They just made him feel nauseous for a while, and then gradually… less agitated. He ate more, slept less, even flew down to the Dry Tortugas with Victor for a weekend.

He still had his reservations about therapy, but he tried to talk to Nathan more -- _about_ more. He found out that Nathan had been twenty-eight when he met Chloe, and that he’d very drunkenly confessed his love for her not three days later. That he’d cried the first time Elena had confessed her love for _him._ That he was scared of being a bad father.

Sam told Nathan that he’d been more-than-friends with Brandon Horrowitz (and hoped he understood what that meant about him). He told him that he was worried Elena hated him for the first two years. That he still had dreams about their mother.

He didn’t tell him about how, in a way, he still felt abandoned by their father. He didn’t tell him about how hopeless he’d felt in prison, or how powerless he’d felt with Rafe -- or how much he missed Charlie.

But he was starting to feel like maybe someday he could. Maybe that was supposed to be the point of therapy, but he would keep thinking on it.

“Hey, Sam, you free a minute? I need a hand with the grill.”

“Sure.”

He followed Elena’s brother out back to the patio. She had two brothers, both younger. They had arrived on Thursday. The short one was named Andrew... and the tall one that needed help with the grill? That, he couldn’t remember.

He helped him change out the propane tanks.

The sun was beginning to dip beneath the tree line and the heat of the day simmered to a chill. The string lights Nathan had put up yesterday felt warm against the sky.

“You know, I don’t eat meat,” said Elena’s tall-brother.

“So why’ve they got you on grill duty?”

“Cause your brother doesn’t know how to hook up the gas.”

Fair enough.

From inside he could hear the exclamations of new guests. Elena’s joyous tones and the bark of Nathan’s laughter, having returned from yet another trip to the airport. Barely a minute had passed before a familiar silhouette appeared at the back door, and the esteemed Chloe Frazer stepped onto the patio, with a loud, _“Hello, boys!”_

She gave Sam a tight hug, her paper grocery bags thumping on his back as she squeezed him, “Good to see you functioning again, love.”

“Backhanded as it is, I’ll take the compliment,” he laughed, releasing her, “What, no Nadine this time?”

“No -- she’s in Pretoria on business,” her voice got quiet as she leaned in, _“But just between you and me -- I think she’s only willing to put up with one Drake at a time.”_

Elena’s brother introduced himself as Will and shook her hand. She unbagged her tribute of several pre-made sandwiches and ripped off the price stickers before setting them out on the table.

Will offered her a beer from the cooler and politely inquired how she knew Elena. Polite conversation was never Sam’s forte, and it looked as though Chloe was about to drag her prey into another forty-minute story, so he excused himself.

He made his way back to the kitchen. Maybe Elena would be done with the potato salad by now. He rounded the corner to a few more faces than he’d expected.

“There you are!” Nathan exclaimed, “Chloe and Charlie just got here.”

It felt like static in his brain.

Charlie certainly was standing at the kitchen counter. Whatever expression he had on his face felt unreadable above the noise.

Sam glanced at Elena, who offered him an earnest smile.

“Um,” he mumbled, gesturing behind him, “I’m gonna get more eggs.”

He half-walked half-ran back down the hall, only distantly aware of Victor’s offer, _“Want some company?”_ being shouted from the dining room table.

The back patio was fenced off, so he hoisted himself up and over. He could walk to the grocery store. It wasn’t far.

Fuck.

All he had on his feet were socks.

You could go to a store without shoes on in Florida, right? That’s a thing you could do in Florida, right?

♢

It was a forty-five minute walk to the store. A forty-five minute walk back. He might’ve wandered around the aisles for forty-five minutes or more -- he had a lot to think about.

Why was Charlie here?

Assumingly, Elena had invited him. Why would she do that? Why would he agree?

He cycled back and forth between feeling angry and guilty. Over the past few months he’d accepted his fuck-up. He did wrong by Charlie, by Crystal -- by Chloe, even, when he thought about it. But he’d accepted it. He’d owned up to it. It hurt, but it’s what he deserved, and he was okay with that.

It was a lot easier to let it go when he’d just assumed he’d never see any of them again.

God.

He had to stop making everything about him.

This was Nathan’s party. These were Nathan’s friends. The least he could do was put on a pleasant face for the weekend. For everyone’s sake.

In the end, he’d completely forgotten about the eggs and instead bought only a six-pack of beer and a two-litre of coke. He set everything down quietly on the kitchen counter and made his way back to the patio where he could hear the evening's festivities were well underway.

There were probably fifteen people back here. Laughter. Unobtrusive music. Hot dogs and tofu burgers. Will, still cornered by Chloe, but to Elena’s added amusement.

Charlie was talking to someone he’d seen in one of Nathan’s photos, an older woman with greying braids. He didn’t look like he’d noticed Sam slipping into the party.

He looked… good. Or, _happy_ at least. More or less the same. He seemed to be enjoying the discussion at least. Nathan slipped into their circle and offered them fresh beers, joining in on the conversation.

Sam could manage this.

He sat down at the picnic table on the far end of the patio, where Victor was in the midst of a card game with Andrew and his wife.

“Jesus, you took a long walk.”

“Yeah, well I got long legs -- deal me in?”

♢

It was close to midnight when the party moved inside, into the living room. A few guests had excused themselves to the guest house for the night. Victor was fast asleep in the recliner, his feet kicked up and his moustache tousled by his snoring.

Sam would’ve called it a night for himself, but Andrew seemed very determined to explain his full theories on Ancient Aliens and he wasn’t sure how to get away.

Elena stood by the coffee table, holding up two DVDs.

“Raiders of the Lost Ark or The Life of Brian?”

The stragglers chimed in their votes and she loaded up the Monty Python film. She dimmed the lights and scooched onto the couch next to her brother, “Hey, Andy -- do think you could work on microwaving some popcorn?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

Sam mouthed a _‘thank you’_ as his unfortunate conversation partner got off the couch. Elena smiled and snuggled up next to her husband.

Charlie was seated on the chaise lounge on the far side of the room, Chloe perched on the back showing him something on her phone. Maybe he could sense being watched, maybe Sam just wasn’t surreptitious enough about it, but for a moment his eyes glanced over to meet his.

He felt an overwhelming sadness.

“I’m gonna have a cigarette,” he mumbled to Elena.

♢

Here he was again, cigarette lit, eyes cast out on the open ocean; wondering where the line between heaven and earth lay.

But it was warm, this time. The amber porch light and the smooth grain of the wooden railing beneath his hands were a comfort to his senses. He closed his eyes and listened to the gentle, rhythmic tide.

He felt calm.

He felt distressed.

He felt loved and hated all at once.

He felt like himself.

He could hear the gentle creak of the front door behind him and he opened his eyes.

“Mind if I join you?”

His breath caught in his throat and he felt the need to run, but the wood beneath his fingers kept him anchored in place. He shook his head.

Charlie leaned onto the railing beside him, looking out at the shore with him.

They stood quietly, Sam burning just beneath his skin.

“Seen that movie a bunch of times,” Charlie mumbled.

“Yeah,” Sam replied. He longed for another drag of his cigarette, but his hands felt frozen in uncertainty.

“Um,” Charlie coughed, “I have something for you.”

He pulled a crumpled envelope from his coat pocket and held it out for Sam to take. Sam accepted it, careful not to touch Charlie’s fingers.

“What is it?”

“It’s, uh -- well, it’s a check.”

Sam flicked his cigarette out onto the beach, “A check for what?”

“Finder’s fee. It’s a combined amount from the University of Edinburgh and the Cultural Council in Siem Reap. I’ve been holding onto it for a while, but it’s your cut.”

Sam chanced a look over before tearing into the envelope, “That’s… a lot more zeros than I was expecting.”

Charlie snorted a laugh, “You shoulda seen the zeros on Chloe’s cut.”

“On Chloe’s -- why do we even _have_ cuts? I thought we got, like, _banned_ from Cambodia.”

“She did a lot of damage control… Even before she got us released. She really knows how to work that charm of hers.”

It truly was beguiling the things that girl could get away with.

“I thought -- didn’t Crystal and Voeng claim the vault?”

“You think Voeng could’ve pulled that off by himself? Of course Chloe had a hand in it. She did take a whopping fifty percent, though.”

“Fifty--,”

“Fifty percent of fifty percent. We’re lucky she was generous enough to share what she got -- you know how she is.”

“So,” Sam folded the paper in half and stuck it in his pocket, “So, she and Crystal… and Voeng… How did she even get Crystal to _agree?”_

“If you ask me, I think she took quite a fancy to Voeng. Might’ve sweetened the deal for her.”

_“Eugh,”_ Sam grimaced, “Crystal… and _Voeng?”_

“Seems like she’s got pretty shit taste in men,” Charlie laughed, “Maybe that’s something we have in common.”

Sam frowned. He felt like he could burn a hole into the banister with how intently he was staring at it. Charlie seemed to have his own attention fixed on the distance. The low, hollow ballad of windchimes filled the air between them.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying.

He felt sick.

Exhausted.

Guilty.

_Relieved._

Charlie made a short ‘hmm’ noise, as casual as if he’d just been read the dinner menu.

Sam chanced a look in his direction. He stood leaned over against the banister, eyes watching the rolling tide ahead.

“Charlie?”

“It’s a start.”

Sam felt his eyes drawn back to his hands. Watching the slight tremble of his fingers. He wished he hadn’t ditched his cigarette so soon.

“Elena invited you?”

“Yeah.”

“So… why’d you come?”

Charlie sighed.

“Honestly? I’d like to say it was for your brother, but…” he clicked his tongue, “Elena made a few convincing arguments on your behalf.”

“She did, did she?”

Oh, Elena. Ever the meddler. He thought so with fondness. In all honesty, he was grateful to have her in the family.

“We’ve had a few talks, she and I -- _and_ she mentioned that you’ve been a bit of a depressed barnacle for the past few months. I thought -- well that’s just not good etiquette for a guest, is it?”

Sam laughed, and from a quick glance he could see that Charlie had cracked just the faintest smile.

“I’m not great at picking up after myself, I’ll admit.”

“No, you left, maybe, ten pairs of socks at my place.”

“I thought you were gonna mail those to me?”

“You never gave me an address.”

“You never gave me the chance to.”

Suddenly he felt flushed with shame. This wasn’t Charlie’s fault. None of it was. Those age-old pins and needles ran rampant through his skull, and he tried to will the sensation to a dull murmur.

“I’m sorry… for everything,” Sam pushed his face into his hands, “I’m sorry for the thing with Crystal, for what I said about Cece… I’m sorry I treated you like shit -- I’m sorry that I didn’t even notice I was _doing_ it.”

Charlie was looking at him now. His eyebrows raised and his expression wary, but his eyes betrayed a warmth.

“Do you have… _any idea_ … how taken I was with you?”

Sam winced and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Hey-- hey, now why’re you making that face?”

“I’m sorry, I just--,” Sam tried to pull himself together enough to look at him again, “I feel bad that -- that you had these… _feelings…_ and I just. I don’t know. I couldn’t deal with it. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Sam -- at least not for this. I just want you to know, alright?”

Charlie placed a hand on top of his and his mind stilled.

“I want you to know that... I’m not sure I’ve ever felt what I felt with you. I mean, we talked about it a bit right? The way the two of us live our lives? It’s something so wild and chaotic and out of the ordinary; and you _know_ what happened with Cece, and -- and it felt unreal to be with you, Sam.”

“Why? I’m just some asshole.”

Charlie laughed -- that deep, rumbling laugh that he’d been missing so much.

“Yes -- you are an _incorrigible_ arsehole,” he said, gripping Sam’s hand more tightly “And you’re also an incredibly resourceful, funny, audacious _… Casanova.”_

Sam barked, “A _Casanova?”_

“Yes and for the life of me I never thought I’d find someone that kept pace and chased the same highs and that… wanted me too.”

Sam closed his eyes.

He’d always been running. Running and never looking back. But all those things he thought he’d lost, they were still with him in some way. He was still whole. He was still himself.

“Rafe and I were a thing.”

He felt a weight in Charlie’s silence. Maybe surprise. Maybe judgement.

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to be long-term. I was twenty-eight and stupid and he was rich and gullible, and I thought it would be fun -- but then things went south in Panama and… and then he got me out of prison all those years later. He acted like nothing had changed, and at that point… I didn’t really have a choice.”

His shoulders felt heavy as they caved towards the ocean. He felt Charlie lace their fingers together and he tightened his grip -- the only thing keeping him from washing away like the surf.

“I felt like I was his personal trophy – some one-up on Nathan; that he had me, and Nate didn’t. I felt like a _pet_ \-- but I was so fucked in the head, Charlie. Sometimes, I felt like we deserved each other. Like maybe I _did_ want it. Like I needed him as much as he needed me. I don't know. I wanted him to die. I wanted to be the one to kill him."

He closed his eyes, the smell of smoke and blood in his lungs.

"I thought it'd be done after that. I thought I'd feel relieved -- _happy_ \-- but I'm not and it makes me sick to my stomach. And it just leaves me wondering what's worse -- living like a possession or… or living in a world that doesn’t want me at all.”

He felt Charlie let go of his hand, and he mourned the loss before he felt him move to wrap his arms around him. Sam felt concave, he gripped his own arms as Charlie held him flush against his body. He felt shame. Humiliation. Comfort.

“I know about Cece, and now you know about Rafe.”

He felt Charlie’s face pressed into his shoulder blade.

_“I’m sorry,”_ he mumbled.

He touched his hand to Charlie’s, held tightly around his shoulder. Charlie squeezed his grip and then released him so that they could stand to face each other, lacing their fingers back together again.

“It means a lot that you told me.”

He nodded weakly.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Charlie laughed, a sharp burst of air. He didn’t bother with an answer. He tugged his hands away and placed them gently on Sam’s face, pulling him closer. He tasted like altoids.

When they broke apart his breath was shaky. He rested his forehead against Charlie’s and tried to keep his thoughts from swimming away.

“I want to forgive you, you know,” Charlie said, running his hand down Sam’s neck.

He jerked back; his stomach suddenly twisted into a knot.

“Hey -- _hey,”_ Charlie stroked his cheek, “Let me finish.”

He leaned forward, a plea to look him in the eyes.

“I want to forgive you. I haven’t yet, but I _want_ to. I just -- need a little more time.”

Sam wasn’t sure what this meant. He’d never felt so vulnerable before.

“So… what now?”

Charlie pulled his hand up to his lips and placed a kiss on the scar from his appointment with the hotel mirror, “I’m meeting a client in Antigua next week -- if you want to come along.”

“Antigua?”

“What, you didn’t think I’d fly to this half of the world just for a party, did you?”

Sam smiled, unsure of himself, “So, it’s safe to assume it wasn’t for my company, either?”

Charlie laughed.

“Are you sure? That you want me around, I mean.”

Charlie kissed him again. He ran his hand along his cheek and slipped his fingers into his hair. He was so very gentle.

“I am.”

Sam laughed, and then he felt his smile fall flat. He pressed his face into the crook of Charlie’s neck.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, “for coming back.”

Charlie wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

Sam felt the cold tremble of his nerves melt into something softer, and then something slightly cheesy. He blinked away the moisture in his eyes and gripped tighter around Charlie’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever held someone so close.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” Charlie mumbled.

“We do.”

Sam coughed, reigning in his fear and his giddiness, “Just uh -- please don’t tell me you love me just yet, okay? I’m not sure I’d know how to handle it.”

Charlie laughed, the kind that shook his entire chest, “Alright, then. I’ll keep you guessing.”

♢

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much to everyone who has read along this far!! I was so nervous about writing again, and it has meant so much to me to learn how to tell a story again and to be able to share it with people. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this, I hope you enjoyed it and that you might take some of that joy with you out into your life!
> 
> \- A


	16. Epilogue

The view never got old.

That crystal clear Florida blue as far as the eye could see.

The smell of salt in the air, and the taste of a cigarette on his tongue.

He tightened his E-string and plucked experimentally, listening for the tune. Still a little low.

It was a good way to spend a Saturday – out on the porch, playing guitar until his fingers went numb. Nathan and Elena were probably still asleep; knocked out cold by a late-night flight and some hot tea. He tried to remember the chords to a song he knew the words to, but not the title.

From inside the house, he could hear little feet thumping down the hall with a vengeance. The front door swung open with the full force of a nine-year-old.

_“Saaaam,”_ Cassie whined, her tone well-rehearsed in melodrama, “You _saaaid_ you were gonna play Mario Kart with me.”

“It’s ten in the morning, Shortstuff.”

She kept the doorknob clasped between her hands so she could dangle off of it as she swung her weight around impatiently like a pendulum.

“That means we have two whole _hours_ before lunch and I’m _dyyying.”_

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, lifting the guitar off his lap, and leaning it against the wall, “Give this old man a minute, alright?”

The little girl continued her swinging as he tried to pull in what he could of his cigarette before ashing it on the bottom of his shoe.

“Alright?”

“You’re not supposed to be smoking,” she said, her eyes big and accusatory.

“Oh, so we got a snitch in our midst, do we?”

“Maaaybe.”

He snorted. She looked like her Mom when she made a show of pouting like this. Sam held out his hand and she latched on like a monkey, tumbling away from her perch.

“But what if we got _pizza_ for lunch?”

“I suppose we could come to an agreement,” she said, already pulling him through the door.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, “Just don’t tell your Uncle Charlie.”


End file.
